Georgia In My Mind
by TheByronicMan
Summary: Georgia and Shaun Mason, along with the voice in Shaun's head, had retired to Canada to live happily ever after in obscurity. The ever after turns out to be not so happy when they learn that Shaun is not as crazy as they thought. Help is available, but they must come out of hiding and place their trust in strangers as they travel to Texas. Updates Weekly.
1. Chapter 1

**Georgia In My Mind**

**Foreword**

_If you haven't yet read "Blackout" I recommend you do so before reading this story. Spoilers abound. The premise for this story occurred to me shortly before the big revelation in "Blackout" and since it has not been completely ruled out in canon I've decided to run with it. It takes place after Georgia and Shaun begin their 'happily ever after' (or so they think) in Canada. In an attempt at clarity, Shaun's hallucinatory sister will be referred to as 'Georgia' while the real live version will be referred to as 'George.' Please let me know if you catch me making an error on that. _

_This is a departure for me. It has always been the fictional universes that inspire me rather than the characters. I prefer to create my own characters with their own strengths and weaknesses, virtues and flaws, and turn them loose to explore an interesting world. This story requires me to use canon characters, so perhaps that will make it more popular than my other attempts. On the off chance that some of you actually enjoyed my "Texas Zombie Reporter" tales, several of the survivors from those stories will appear in a supporting role in this one._

_Standard disclaimer: I do not own the Kellis-Amberlee virus, zombies, the CDC, the EIS, Land Rover, Mercedes-Benz, the Walter Lantz studio, the Texas Biomedical Research Institute, Cadillac-Gage/Textron, the Three Stooges, the Snake Farm, Coke, Dr. Pepper, the Newsflesh Trilogy, or any of the characters contained within. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, or living dead, is purely coincidental._

* * *

**Expatriate Games**

The morning dawned the way several others have over the past few months, with me trying to kill my sister. Rather, my hands were the ones trying to wrap around her throat. What was going on in my brain was a mystery, I had no idea what was happening until George slapped me upside the head.

"Shaun, wake up!" Smack! "You're doing it again."

The slap snapped me out of it, and I released her neck and rolled out of bed. I stood by the wall and punched it repeatedly, leaving bloody smears on the plaster, until George grabbed my arm and pulled me to her. I held her tightly, burying my face in her shoulder.

"It's no use, you're going to have to lock me in the other room to sleep." The Georgia living inside my head spoke up for the first time.

_Good, then I'll have you to myself at night._

"Shut up, Shut Up, SHUT UP!"

I pulled away from George and went into the living room to sit down and stare blankly at the wall. After a few minutes George came and sat beside me, handing me a cup of coffee and popping the top on her Coke.

"Shaun, there has to be another way."

"We've tried everything else. It's either lock me in, or I have to leave."

We'd tried therapy, sleeping pills, and psych meds of all sorts. But no matter what, every now and then I tried to kill George in my sleep. Looked at another way, you could consider it a form of attempted suicide. After I had to shoot my sister in the back of the neck, she started speaking in my head. I knew I was insane, but her presence was comforting, even when I started being able to see her. After the real George, or at least a 97% accurate CDC-made copy of her, was back in my life, I thought the Georgia in my mind would go away. Instead, she got jealous and has been trying to drive us apart ever since. And now I'm convinced that she's trying to kill her rival for my affections.

I reached for a bottle of vodka and poured a glassful. I never have been much of a drinker beyond the occasional beer, drunkenness is not exactly a survival trait when playing with zombies. But the voice in my head seems to pass out before I do, so I was considering taking up alcoholism for a hobby. Maybe if I drank enough I'd kill the brain cells that she's living in. The other most effective method is to put a gun to my head and tell her if she doesn't leave me alone I'll blow our brains out. She can tell I'm not bluffing and usually shuts up for a day or so after that. The real George doesn't like it when I do that, though. She doesn't like it when I drink, either, so she got up and left the room with a pained look on her face.

Dammit. Things had been going so well. Me and George, Alaric and Maggie, Mahir finally getting to go home to his wife. Happy endings all around, for the survivors at least. I should have known it was too good to last. If anyone's happily ever after had to be spoiled I guess I'd rather it was mine than any of my friends, if only George didn't have to suffer too. Maybe I could get the CDC to whip up a replacement Shaun for her so I could head up north looking for zombie polar bears.

I judged that I had hit the desired level of inebriation so I switched to a maintenance dose of alcohol, adulterating my coffee with a bit of Kahlua. That was far more palatable than the vodka. I looked up to see George walking towards me carrying her laptop and wearing a shocked expression. "What's wrong?" I said carefully, fighting the tendency to slur my words.

"I just got an email from Dr. Kimberly. You need to read this." She handed me the laptop.

I took it, looking at the screen. Several paragraphs were highlighted.

* * *

_My team has managed to unlock more of Dr. Thomas's encrypted files. Georgia, I don't want to tell you this, but I have to. His people did something to Shaun. While Shaun was in therapy in Oakland after your funeral, the doctor set up a series of sleep studies, brain monitoring, and CT scans to look for the cause of his hallucinations. Rather, that was what he claimed the reason was. Instead, he was working for the Seattle CDC office, and while Shaun was under a team from Seattle inserted you into his head. Not an original copy, but a scan taken from one of the more stable of your clone predecessors after it went into spontaneous amplification. That clone was one they were grooming to send to Shaun as a mole. _

_According to Dr. Thomas's notes, the intent was to reinforce Shaun's psychosis in order to give them a way to cast doubt on his credibility if necessary, or make him more tractable to the version of you they had planned to release. I'm worried. I can't help remembering how you destroyed all of your fellow clones and wondering if the Georgia in Shaun's brain might have similar ideas. You may be in danger. _

_If there are problems, you need to seek treatment for him as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I can't guarantee your safety at any CDC facilities as we have not yet rooted out all of the members of the conspiracy. And getting rid of the conspirators that we have identified has cost us much of our expertise in the very specialties that you would need. The only other option in North America is the Texas Biomedical Research Institute. They've been researching memory transfer techniques for the purpose of treating Alzheimer's patients, and they have the only remaining team in the world with experience using it on living subjects. Apes, not humans, but still more experience than you will find anywhere else. And, as it happens, Texas Biomed does a lot of pharmaceutical research and has a cordial working relationship with the Garcia family. _

* * *

I sat there silently for several minutes, dumbfounded. At least it was clear that I was drunk enough to keep Georgia quiet, or she would have been shrieking in my head right now. But it also meant that I was too drunk to think straight.

"Shaun...?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking. How the hell are we going to get to Texas? Might be easier to fly to Mexico and come up from the south."

"So you want to go there?"

"God, George, I have to. If there is any chance at all they can help, I have to."

"Then I'll start working on how to get there." She leaned over to kiss me on the forehead, then got up and went back to her desk.

After a glance at the clock and a few moments of blearily remembering how to tell time, I realized it was around noon. I carefully made my way into the kitchen, glad to be in the safe confines of our home. A staggering drunk bears a remarkable resemblance to a shuffling zombie, and there have been more than a few mistaken shootings. These days drunk driving is safer than public intoxication, at least for the drunk. I grabbed a couple of things at random from the freezer and achieved another monumental victory of Man over Technology by successfully programming the microwave. I dropped George's lunch at her elbow, which she acknowledged with an absent-minded "Thanks." I settled in my chair and opened my laptop to look through the blogs I'm subscribed to. Luckily we can write off the subscription fees on our taxes as 'competitor research.' One of my favorite regional sites was on hiatus, with the couple that runs it taking a vacation off-line and their betas producing filler content. But many of the other blogs had juicy video, and I toasted each victorious Irwin. Naturally, I got steadily drunker as the afternoon progressed.

The next thing I noticed it was well after dark. The sounds of typing and phone conversations from George's desk had ceased without my realizing it. I looked over and saw that she had swiveled her chair to face me. She appropriated my bottle of vodka and poured herself a drink. Then it finally penetrated my fuzzy brain that she had changed into a long silky nightgown. George is the least-girly girl I've ever met but once in a while, when we can be assured of privacy, she goes delectably feminine. I think she does it more because she likes the effect it has on me rather than enjoying it for its own sake. And while she normally disapproves of my drinking, she has developed a taste for occasional drunken sex. The fact that she could be sure Georgia wasn't making snide remarks in the back of my head was probably a big part of that, but didn't explain her getting intoxicated herself.

She leaned back and draped one leg over the arm of her chair. My gaze settled on her delicate toes where they pointed at the floor, then traveled up along her slimly muscled calf, before resting on the shapely thigh exposed by her gown slipping back. My eyes were drawn up across the silk hugging her curves to her lips as she raised the glass to them and drained the liquor in one long draught. We sat there silently, looking into each other's eyes, sharing unspoken messages. Well, except when my eyes were wandering the rest of her body. As the vodka took effect she became more relaxed. She shifted sideways in her chair, gown riding higher up her thigh, one strap slipping off of her shoulder. She took on the aspect of a cat lazily contemplating a bowl of cream.

Responding to some silent signal, we both got up and went to each other. Our lips met, and my hands slid easily over the silk, content for the moment to have the flimsy barrier shielding her from my touch. After a long time, we broke the kiss and made our way to the bedroom, arms around each other's waists for mutual support.

I woke up in the morning absurdly cheerful despite having a vicious headache. The hangover is just as good at keeping Georgia at bay as the alcohol. I guessed it reminded her of the migraines she used to get because of her retinal K-A that would cause her to curl up in a dark room until they passed. I envisioned Georgia huddled in a lightless closet somewhere in my head and almost felt sorry for her.

But the moment passed and I was ready to go kill things. Luckily, I had a date to do just that. I had gotten to be friends with a local Irwin named Jake. He invites me to go out in the field with him from time to time. To keep my identity a secret, I am billed as his 'Special Guest: The Unknown Irwin' and wear a helmet and face shield that resembles a paper bag with eye and mouth holes. It's a reference to a particularly vulgar pre-Rising comedian. I find him hilarious, George can't get more than a minute into one of his routines before stalking out of the room. It was weird, I almost never wore face protection before, but these days I had to even though I've become immune to zombie spit.

I glanced at the clock and headed for my closet to gear up. Aside from the helmet, the only real change I've made to my usual field wear is to replace my cardigan with a truly eye-catching flannel shirt that rivals the loudest Hawaiian shirts. Have to try to look more Canadian, eh? Once properly dressed, I picked out weapons. First, a crossbow and quiver of bolts slung over my shoulder. Clipped to the right side of my belt, an antique but refurbished cattle prod, more effective on zombies than the modified stun batons I've used before. On the left, rigged for a cross draw, was a heavily customized lightweight electric chainsaw. It had a narrow, extended bar, requiring a specially-made chain, giving it the basic size and heft of a broadsword. To keep the weight down, it plugged into a high-density battery pack on the back of my belt. A lexan guard just behind the chain reduced blood spatter. I might be immune to amplification, but no need being more of a walking hot zone than necessary.

Thus equipped, I clanked up behind George to give her a hug and a kiss on the top of the head. She moved to brush her cheek against mine and told me to have a good time, then turned her attention back to her computer. I peeked out the front window just in time to see my ride pull up. I swaggered outside and slid into the passenger seat of Jake's Land Rover Defender.

"Jake my man! How's it hanging?"

"A little to the right, like always. Ya ready to go oot?"

Jake tends to slap on an exaggerated Canadian accent around his American friends. He knows it bugs me, but it charms the hell out of George. He only keeps it up when she's around, otherwise he drops it pretty quick.

"Sure am, you hoser. What's on the schedule?"

"I figured we'd duck over into Quebec and check out this little farming town. I'd tell you the name but I don't think I can pronounce it and won't embarrass myself trying."

"Any likely prospects?" I asked.

"There was a report of a large pack in the area a few days ago. The Mounties sent in a Zombie Response Team to do a sweep, and they stacked up a lot of corpses."

"Sounds like slim pickings."

"Maybe, but I've seen this bunch's handiwork before. They head in, make a lot of noise, burn a pile of bodies, and rush home to dinner. They usually leave stragglers behind."

"Perfect." It sounded like an ideal situation. A few isolated infected, dumb enough to have some fun with, and no worries about getting ambushed by a pack big enough to show some brains.

"Yep." He gave me an evil grin.

We rode in silence for a couple of hours. Neither of us was the type to pass the time with empty words, we save those for our fans. Or rather, I used to. On my outings with Jake I only spoke when necessary and he did all the patter, lest someone recognize my voice. We drove into an area that even I could see had once been farm land, and passed the village limits sign. I was pretty sure I couldn't pronounce the name either, Spanish being a lot more useful than French where I grew up. Not that my Spanish is all that good, but at least I could wrap my tongue around it. There were obvious signs of a recent clearance sweep, notably the extensive patch of ashes in the center of what had been the town square back when there were enough intact buildings to define it. We continued through town and out the other side, where we found the rest of Jake's crew in their Mercedes Unimog parked on a small hill. One of the cameramen was up on the truck's roof looking through a long range camera. I sighed. Time for the damned helmet. Just to be safe, Jake was the only one who knew my identity. I had never bothered to even learn their names, playing the mysterious stranger role to the hilt.

Jake parked next to them and got out, looking up at the guy on the roof. "Got anything good?"

The cameraman looked down. "There's a farmhouse and a barn about a mile thataway. I've spotted a couple of infected trying to catch some chickens. Funniest thing I've seen in weeks. Poor buggers aren't having any luck, but they keep trying."

"Yeah, I figured the Mounties wouldn't get this far. That bunch is a disgrace to the uniform. Still, I should be grateful they left some for us. Okay, let's move out."

Jake's other cameraman climbed into the back seat and we headed for the old farm. We stopped at the edge of the barnyard and dismounted. Jake was carrying a cattle prod like mine, not surprising since I'd gotten it from him in the first place. His family was in ranching, not that they call it that up here, before the Rising put an end to most of the beef industry. He'd had half a dozen of the things sitting in a corner of an old shed. He also had a C8PDW on a sling. It was a very short Canadian-made version of the AR-15, the size of a submachinegun but firing a standard .223 rifle round. When gun laws were relaxed after the Rising, Canadians were even more enthusiastic about acquiring firepower than my fellow Americans. I've watched Jake easily control full-auto bursts one-handed and put a single shot through a zombie's eye at 150 yards. I guess I should call them meters now, but habits are hard to break.

There wasn't any sign of our potential playmates at first, but then a chicken casually strolled around the corner of the barn with a pair of infected shuffling after it. The first one was reasonably fresh, dead just long enough to lose that new zombie speed. He was clutching a handful of feathers, but the bloodstains around his mouth were days old, indicating that the feathers were all he'd caught. The second had been dead at least over the winter, showing signs of frostbite. Not having enjoyed the Canadian winter myself, even with the benefits of shelter, heat, and a down parka, I almost pitied him. Almost.

Jake reached into a cargo pocket and pulled out a set of leg shackles he'd gotten the week before. "So, left to right, or left to left?"

I looked around the expanse of the barnyard. "Plenty of room. Give 'em a chance." When I do talk, I keep it short and try to drop my voice into a bass register. Mom was a big fan of Barry White, and I attempt to imitate him. I don't quite get there, but at least I don't sound like me.

At the sound of our voices, the two chicken chasers turned their attention to us. We readied our cattle prods and patiently waited their approach. I mentally dubbed the frostbitten one 'Chilly Willy' and the other one 'Smedley.' Smedley got to us first and seemed intent on gnawing on my tender bits, so I dodged his lunge and gave him a jolt to the side of the neck. That dropped him to the ground. He was stunned but still twitching a bit, so the current hadn't fried what was left of his brain. Jake soon gave the same treatment to Willy. I could hear Jake narrating into his mic as he snapped one leg cuff around Willy's left ankle, but couldn't quite make out the words. No problem, I'd get it when he posted the video. He handed me the other end of the shackles, and I secured it around Smedley's right leg. Then we stood back and waited for the fun to start.

Smedley was the first one on his feet, and his attention was still focused on me. Too bad he wasn't strong enough to drag Willy along behind him. I smugly stood just out of his reach. Since the not-so-dynamic duo had been chasing chickens, they had to be far more interested in eating us rather than infecting us. After about a minute of futilely pawing the air in my direction, Smedley had his leg jerked out from under him and slammed face first to the ground as Willy lurched to his feet. Willy shambled towards Jake, giving Smedley enough slack in the chain to heave himself back upright. Moving more or less in unison, they followed us as we backed away, though Smedley was occasionally jerked to a halt until Willy could catch up.

That was what I meant about giving them a chance. With adjacent ankles cuffed together they could manage to walk. Cuffed right to right or left to left, with luck the best they could achieve was walking in circles. More likely, one or the other would get tangled in the chain. The shackles were a great trick, and I didn't mind that Jake had gotten the idea from me. Hell, I freely admit I stole it from a competitor.

We led the zombies on a slow but merry chase across the yard. I glanced over at the chicken and saw that she had been joined by three more, all apparently watching the action curiously. I hoped that had been caught on camera. When we were just about backed up to the fence, we took the simple expedient of splitting off in opposite directions. Smedley and Willy were determined to reach their chosen victims, and both crashed to the ground as they each tried to go a different way. Jake and I paired up again in the center of the yard and watched a solid five minutes of pratfalls before the zombies were both able to find their feet and give chase again. We led them back and forth across the barnyard for at least an hour, with Jake providing a running commentary. It was a bit long for my taste, but this was Jake's show. Canadians seem to have a longer attention span for that sort of thing.

Finally, Jake said, "Okay, time to cut them loose."

I drew my chainsaw, flicked on the power, and squeezed the trigger. I sighed inwardly. Electric was a lot more convenient and reliable, but it lacks the satisfying roar of a gasoline motor. I have considered adding sound effects, but that would have been too corny. Once Jake had backed well out of splatter range, I moved in and cut through Smedley's knee, hitting the joint perfectly. He promptly fell over, freeing Willy to go after Jake, dragging Smedley's lower leg behind him. Jake led Willy around in a circle until he had the barn as a convenient backstop, then fired a short burst that stitched Willy from belly button to forehead. Meanwhile, I unslung and loaded my crossbow, then fired a bolt that neatly transfixed Smedley through both temples. Damn. I'd been trying my entire career to get that shot, and now that I'd done it I couldn't take credit.

We recovered and bagged the shackles for later cleaning, then dragged the bodies and parts together. We liberally doused them and the surrounding bloodstained area with kerosene and tossed in a lit flare. As the flames shot up, the chickens ran off, but they resumed watching from a safe distance.

Jake looked over at them. "A chicken dinner would be good tonight."

"Not safe. Can't tell which one Smedley got his hands on, or even if it was just one."

"Smedley?"

"Chilly Willy and Smedley," I said, nodding at the burning corpses.

"Ah," Jake said, catching the reference. "Never made sense to me. Penguins aren't native to Alaska."

I shrugged.

We went through the usual field test ritual and got back into Jake's Land Rover to drive back to the rest of the crew. Jake had replaced the upholstery and carpet, sealed every seam, and installed drains in the floorboards so that he can just hose down the interior. Good thing, because I can't completely avoid back-spatter when using the chainsaw. We reached the Unimog and took turns using the decon shower and clothing sterilizer in the back of it. By the time I was done, the sun was setting and there was a bit of a nip in the air. It felt colder because of my damp skin and hair. I had endured a lot of ribbing the previous fall for bundling up when the temperature was 'only' down in the 40s, whatever the hell that is in Celsius, so I stoically endured the chill. Luckily Jake isn't one of those masochists who cuts a hole in the ice to go swimming, so once we were back on the road he turned the heat on. When we got back to civilized territory, we hit a drive-through for some dinner.

He dropped me off at home before George could get too worried. Of course, she's always a little worried when I go out. After once again testing clean at the door, I walked in to find her sitting in the living room. A glance into the kitchen told me she hadn't thought to eat. I expected that, so when I got my own dinner I ordered something for her as well. She was so engrossed in her computer screen that she didn't notice me until I dropped the bag in front of her. She looked up in surprise, then eagerly tore into her food, updating me on her day between bites.

"I haven't been able to find anyone trustworthy that can supply us with IDs that will get us through airport security, much less hold up under scrutiny at the US-Mexico border. What I have managed to find is an independent tour operator that goes into the northwestern US states and can get us across the border."

"That still leaves us a long way from Texas with no wheels. And can we trust this guy?"

"He's another expat American, has a real dislike of the government, and enjoys giving them the proverbial middle finger. He has too much to lose if he gives us up. Transportation from there is a bigger problem." She hesitated.

"What is it?"

"I hit every contact I could, no luck. Maggie went to her dad, and he is providing a discreet introduction to Texas Biomed, but he says there are signs that somebody has been illegally hacking into information on his finances. He'll help if Maggie asks, but says he can't be sure of secrecy." She hesitated again, looking down.

"George, what's wrong?"

"There were no other options, I had to contact the Masons."

George was even less of a fan of our adoptive parents than I was. Still, they were among the longest running news bloggers in the business, and had the most extensive contacts. Dealing with them was like dining with the Devil, but as long as you were sufficiently paranoid you might get out okay.

"I was afraid it might come to that. How'd it go?"

"It was awful. They were playing up the 'concerned parents' routine, kept trying to get me to reveal our location. I was able to get a list of possibilities from them. Mom was really pushing one of them, so naturally I looked at the others."

"What did you come up with?"

"There's a couple based in San Antonio. They're on a trip up this way, and plan to stop in Yellowstone in two days before returning home. I've gotten in contact with them and they've offered to help. The husband has a reservoir condition and says he's sure the CDC had already tried to arrange an accident for him before we broke the story. They both insist they owe us his life. And they're closer to our age than most of Mom's contacts. I think we can trust them."

"Sounds good. Can we get there in time to meet them?"

"The tour operator I mentioned has a trip going there in the morning. We should get there tomorrow night."

The rest of the evening was spent cleaning my weapons and packing. We fell into bed with the alarm set for an ungodly early hour, too tired to do more than cuddle. I suddenly found myself wishing I had fallen asleep sooner.

_You're going to kill me. _

Dammit. I'd been trying not to think about it, hoping Georgia wouldn't pick it up.

"You tried to kill George."

_Just wanted to fit in. You've killed Georgia Mason. She's a veritable mass murderer of Georgia Masons. I figure it's my turn. _

I smacked the heel of my hand against the side of my skull. George stirred in her sleep and mumbled. I laid there trying to ignore Georgia's pleas until exhaustion finally claimed me.

* * *

_Shaun sits just a few feet from me, but he might as well be on another continent. He's locked in a battle, of which I can only catch glimpses, that may yet claim me as a casualty. His weapon of choice, alcohol, which distances him from me further even as it protects him from the nemesis within. _

**From _Expatriate Games_, the blog of Georgia Mason**

**July 23, 2042 (Unpublished)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Back in the USA **

The alarm went off way too early. I quickly shut it off before Shaun awoke. He was up half the night arguing with himself while I tried not to let on that I was awake. At least he was too tired to try to kill me in his sleep. I staggered to the kitchen and took a Coke from the fridge, then started Shaun's coffee brewing. I drank half a can before the caffeine kicked in enough that I could contemplate something more complicated like putting breakfast in the microwave. When Shaun and I were hoping to be successful enough to move out on our own, I swore that I would miss nothing about living with our alleged parents. I was wrong. I was getting tired of food that had been processed to bland, barely recognizable pap. The takeout Shaun had brought me the night before was the culinary high point for the week. We had mastered a lot of important survival skills, but cooking wasn't one of them. Neither of us was all that interested in making the effort to learn, hoping the other would do it. It was a competition to see who would break down first.

The microwave beeped, and breakfast was served. I went to wake Shaun up, I'd let him sleep in as long as we could afford. He wasn't happy about being awakened, but managed something that might charitably be considered a smile when he saw the coffee waiting for him. After inhaling a mug of the stuff, he regained the power of speech.

"Good morning."

"That's your opinion."

"Dammit George, I'm an Irwin, not an opinion columnist," he said, with a real smile this time.

I smiled back. "You're on your own time right now, you're allowed to have an opinion. Even if it's wrong."

Too soon it was time to go. Since we would be gone for a while, I actually made the effort to put the remains of breakfast into the trash and badgered Shaun into putting it by the curb. We loaded our luggage in the van and headed out. There wasn't much traffic this time of morning, so I took the wheel. I still had all the knowledge to drive, but my new body didn't have the muscle memory or the reflexes, so I needed the practice. I take that back, I had most of the knowledge. Apparently part of the 3% difference between me and the original Georgia Mason was awareness of yield signs. Shaun had to explain them to me after I blew through one. For a brief moment, I was like almost every other driver on the road.

What little good mood Shaun had soon evaporated. "I wish we could just take the van the whole way."

"I looked into that. We'd need fake plates, fake registration, and fake insurance to get it across the border without sending up red flags. And a hacker good enough to insert our fake info into the system."

"I know. It still sucks."

We made it to the tour company well ahead of our fellow travelers. It was a small operation, the owner was also the bus driver. In exchange for a wad of cash, he supplied us with IDs that sort of looked like us, a tour packet with meal vouchers and a hotel room assignment, and slipped our weapons bag in with his own luggage. Shaun wasn't happy about going unarmed, but carrying weapons across an international border still brought extra scrutiny. The bus was a lower end model, only divided into three separate compartments to contain possible outbreaks. Most buses have at least twice that many, and some can isolate each pair of seats. After another half an hour the tourists started filtering in, and we soon boarded. Six hours and one run-down diner later, we were back in the United States for the first time in the better part of a year. We actually slept through the border crossing, only waking up long enough to pass our IDs back to the driver. Shaun was anesthetized, and his discorporeal passenger silenced, with the help of a pocket flask. I was just tired. During our dinner stop, the driver took the opportunity to put our weapons back with the rest of our bags.

Eight hours after crossing the border, we entered Yellowstone and pulled up to our hotel at Mammoth Hot Springs. The blood test unit at the lobby door looked out of place attached to the century-old building. We got our key, found the room, and unpacked just enough for the night. Shaun's good mood returned when I joined him in the shower. We spent an hour under the spray, and barely took enough time to dry off before making our way to the bed. This was the last night for who knew how long that we could be assured of privacy, and we intended to make the most of it. Good thing we'd slept on the bus.

we got up just in time to make it to the dining room for breakfast. Luckily we weren't expected until around noon. Once fed, we got directions to the Park Service housing area where we were supposed to meet our ride. We had an hour to kill, so we detoured to look at the hot springs that gave the place its name. We spent some time walking around the terraces built up by thousands of years of mineral-rich hot water. Very hot, in the 170 degree range. Finally, we headed for our destination. We came into sight of the house we were looking for and Shaun stopped dead in his tracks.

"This is your idea of traveling inconspicuously? Those are two of the most famous vehicles in journalism, the Dilemma and the Meatwagon. Hell, I should have figured it out. I read they were on vacation."

Parked in front of the house was an old military armored car and a station wagon of some sort. I started walking towards the front door and Shaun quickly caught up with me. I knocked, and the door was answered by someone I didn't recognize, a remarkably top-heavy Hispanic woman in a Park Ranger uniform.

"Hi, you must be the folks we've been expecting. I'm Anna Guillen, come on in."

"Um, hi," Shaun and I said in unison and followed her inside. There we found the people we'd been looking for, Rob and Bobbie Phillips from _Texas Zombie Reporter._ I knew Rob was somewhere on Shaun's must-watch list. I don't think he knew that I logged on to _TZR _every now and then. It wasn't professional interest, but it wasn't any kind of attraction either. Rob Phillips was one of the few Irwins who matched my brother for taking crazy chances and living through them. I guess he was kind of a talisman for me, as long as he survived I figured Shaun could too.

They stood up as we entered the room. He was somewhere close to six feet tall, wearing pants and a jacket of some kind of black leather with a pebbled texture, and built similarly to Shaun. Not surprising, they were both in the same physically demanding profession. His wife nearly matched him in height, wore more normal street clothes, and had a complexion several shades darker than his own deep tan. While not quite as buxom as the Ranger, she had sufficient curves to draw most heterosexual male eyes. Including Shaun's, I was annoyed to note.

Rob greeted us first. "Hello, nice to finally meet you two after following your reports for so long. I'm Rob, this is my wife Bobbie, and you've already met our _fiancee_ Anna."

I blinked at that, inwardly cursing the inadvertent hesitation before I returned the introductions. I had no business looking askance at other people's relationships. "Hi, I'm Georgia Mason, and this is my brother, Shaun."

"But you can just call her George, everyone does," Shaun added. I elbowed him in the side.

"Well, take a seat. We have some time to plan things out while Anna finishes packing."

I settled into a chair. "She's going with us?"

"Yep. She's being transferred to Big Bend, so we're giving her a lift. She'll be an asset traveling the back roads. If she wasn't so over-educated and dedicated to catching bad guys, she'd have made one hell of an Irwin. And since she'll finally be living within a day's drive of us, we're going to marry her before she reports to her new job." Seeing the expression on my face, he added, "No, it won't be legally recognized, but we're working on that."

"So, what's your plan for the trip to Texas?"

"First opportunity, we'll go off the grid. There won't be a chance until we're about half way through Wyoming. I figure on you riding with Bobbie to give her a relief driver and some backup. If Anna and your brother ride with me, that will put our best shooters together, ready to deal with any infected we find along the way."

"Couldn't Shaun ride with me and Bobbie?"

"I've only got room for one passenger," Bobbie said. "The back end was designed for hauling coffins, and I've got my mobile computer setup installed back there."

I had a sudden realization. "Oh, it's a hearse."

"That's why I named it the Meat Wagon. It was one of less than thirty 2015 models made by Cadillac before the Rising."

Shaun nudged me. "You are so unobservant sometimes."

I sniffed at the slander against one of my most treasured professional skills. "What are we going to do at night, or do you plan to drive straight through?"

"Even switching off drivers, that's too far of a stretch. And we'll be hauling too much luggage to bed everyone down in the vehicles. I've pulled together a list of relatively safe places off the main roads where we can rent rooms."

I turned all that over in my mind, but couldn't find any flaws. "Sounds like a plan."

Anna returned to the room at that point, now dressed similarly to Rob and carrying surprisingly few bags for someone moving across the country. We all trooped out to the vehicles and drove to the hotel to get our bags. We didn't bother to check out, the room was still paid up for another two nights, so we just hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door. That should give us a least a few days before anyone missed us. Shaun and I shared a last kiss in the room, not knowing when we would have another chance. A few minutes later, we were driving south through the park. I was relieved to finally have my .40 back on my hip, and I know Shaun was overjoyed to have access to his arsenal again.

After watching the scenery go by for a while, I turned to Bobbie. "I really appreciate you doing this for us."

"Like I said the other day, we owe you more than we can repay. I'm just glad we were in the right place at the right time to pay down the debt a bit."

"We didn't do that much, we were just staggering from one crisis to another, trying to come out the other end alive."

"Hon, you broke the story of the century. People with reservoir conditions, like Rob, are safer today because of what you did."

"Did the CDC really try to kill him?"

"We didn't realize it at the time, but after the fact it seemed obvious. He was driving home after his trip to Big Bend when a flatbed truck loaded with scrap metal crossed the center line and nearly hit him head on. Luckily, Rob had recently been practicing tricky maneuvers and his dad was a strong advocate of what he calls the 'Four Ps of Driving,' so he was able to dodge it. The truck went off the road and flipped, killing the driver. The police were never able to identify him, and the registration was faked."

"The four Ps of driving?"

"Pay attention, Plan ahead, People are idiots, and Paranoia is your friend."

I laughed. "I'll have to remember that. They didn't try again?"

"Well, there was the attack on our wedding, but we have better suspects for that."

"I remember something about that, but we were so busy on the campaign trail."

"Yeah, I'm sure that kept you fully occupied. Remind me to thank your brother for getting Tate out of the Governor's mansion for us."

"Thank my brother for getting Tate out of the Governor's mansion."

"Smart ass."

"Better than being a dumb ass."

"True."

About that time the armored vehicle ahead of us came to a stop. Bobbie braked to a halt behind it, and I looked out the windshield to see an enormous herd of buffalo crossing the road in front of us. Shaun, Rob, and Anna got out to stand on the shoulder. Bobbie quickly joined them. With considerable trepidation, I climbed out of the hearse and made it unanimous. I couldn't count the number of huge animals covering the landscape. It made me nervous as hell. Shaun pointed out a number of Park Rangers on horseback and carrying rifles patrolling the fringes of the herd.

"One of the Park Service's biggest single expenses is keeping constant watch on the buffalo herds of Yellowstone in order to limit outbreaks," Anna said. "I've pulled that duty myself, once I learned how to ride a horse. It's not a fun job."

Rob said, "Next time we have a quiet evening, remind me to interview you about that."

His careful phrasing robbed me of another opportunity for smart-assery.

Anna said, "Do any of your readers care about things outside of Texas?"

"Sure they do. Besides, I have to get some kind of content out of this trip."

Rob pulled a small tablet computer out of his pocket. He started tapping on the screen, and I heard the sound of an electric motor to my left. I looked over to see a pillar rising from the roof of his armored car. When it stopped, a camera at the top moved to pan across the buffalo carpeting the landscape. I was instantly jealous.

"Wow, that's a sweet setup," I said.

Bobbie turned to me. "Yeah, expensive too. There are also three cameras with wide-angle lenses that give a 360 degree view, but he has those turned off. It's basically a scaled up version of his field cameras. If you'd like, I can put you in touch with his electronics guy. For the right price, I'm sure you can get the plans."

"I may take you up on that. So, are you planning to post video of your vacation?"

"Some. This will probably be the last thing we post before we get home, and I'll delay it a couple of days. People already know we planned to hit Yellowstone, so it would look weird to not post anything. I'll screen anything that is posted to make sure you two aren't shown. If you'd like, y'all can sit in."

If Bobbie was like other video editors I knew, that was a major concession. They normally hate having people look over their shoulders while they work. I found it reassuring. We watched the herd for a couple of hours before they finally cleared the road enough that we could continue.

Rob put away his computer and turned to face the rest of us. "Well, that puts a kink in our plans. We're not going to make it as far as I'd hoped before we have to stop for the night, and we still need to lay in some food supplies. We'll cover the meals, but be thinking about anything extra you want, it'll have to be a quick stop. We should be able to make it to the place Bobbie and I stayed last night, and we know the proprietors are trustworthy. Oh well, the longer everything goes according to plan, the bigger the impending disaster."

"Geez," Shaun said, "before we left for Canada almost nothing went according to plan, and the disaster was huge. I'd hate to see how much worse it could have been."

On that note, we got back on the road. Bobbie gave me the password to her mobile network and told me how to request an encrypted link to Rob's system so I could talk with Shaun. We compared impressions, and tentatively decided that we could trust these people. We continued chatting as the miles disappeared behind us. After a few hours, we stopped at a gas station in Jackson, Wyoming. Rob and Anna stayed to fuel up the vehicles while the rest of us went to a small grocery store across the street. Shaun went off with half of the shopping list. I found myself looking forward to dinner, as Bobbie's half of the list included fresh fruits and vegetables in addition to canned goods and meat. I detoured long enough to secure a case of Coke. Lucky for Shaun, both Anna and Bobbie were as much coffee fiends as he was, and already had a good supply. Rob was right about a quick stop, it was barely fifteen minutes before the supplies were loaded and we were moving again.

The same stop would have taken hours in California. The store we shopped at in Canada was nearly as fast, but neither that store nor this one seemed any less secure than the ones back at our old home. I suspected that the delays we grew up with were intentional, hoping that bored shoppers would pick up more items while they were waiting. By the doors at the section dividers, you usually found the same sort of impulse buy merchandise that was normally stocked at the cash registers. That was absent here.

An hour later we turned off of the highway. The side road was blocked by half a dozen large boulders, but a gravel detour led around them. I would have said the road was in bad repair, but that would imply there had been any repairs at all. As near as I could tell, there hadn't been any work done on it since the Rising. We had to slow down, but it was only another hour before we passed a sign announcing that we had entered the town of Marbleton, population 1094. That figure had been crossed out, with the number four followed by a question mark painted beneath it. A short while later, we turned off what passed for the main street, and after a few blocks we pulled up outside a well-maintained and formidable fence surrounding what looked like an apartment complex. A man came out to meet us carrying a hunting rifle of some sort, though I had no idea what he thought he could do if Rob decided to drive through the fence. Rob popped his head up through a hatch in the front and talked to the guard. He opened the gate and waved us through. We parked and got out, and I was surprised not to be greeted with a blood test kit. Shaun had told me that it was normal for places off the grid like this, but I hadn't quite believed him. The sun was starting to set as we entered a living room that had been pressed into service as an office. Waiting for us was a woman that looked to be in her mid 60s, but clearly healthy and in good shape.

"Ah, you're back! And you brought friends this time."

Rob answered, "Yeah. We were hoping to be further down the road by now, but we ended up on the wrong side of a buffalo herd."

"You're bad luck is my good fortune. Two rooms, or three?"

"Actually, we'd like that party suite you mentioned last time."

"Good choice. Let me see about getting it ready." She pressed an intercom button. "Adam, get suite number one fired up, pronto." She turned back to us. "That'll be 30 gallons of diesel this time."

"Sorry, can't be sure when we can fuel up again. I just can't spare it."

"Okay then, two grams, or we can haggle over supplies."

"As tired as I am, you'd take me to the cleaners. Gold it is." Rob reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out two plastic disks about the size of quarter, each one holding a tiny gold bar in the center that was smaller than a fingernail. He laid them on the desk.

"Damn, I was hoping for a good haggling session. Here's your keys, it's the last unit on the left. Power should be on by now, hot water should be good in fifteen minutes. The hot tub will take about an hour to get up to temp. Have fun, kids, and keep it down to a dull roar after midnight. Unless you invite me to join you, that is." She leered at both Rob and Shaun. I was too surprised to be jealous.

Rob and Anna drove to the indicated unit, while the rest of us walked the short distance. There was a generator running around the corner from the door.

"Must be hell getting fuel out here. I can see why they want it as payment," Shaun said.

Rob replied, "I asked about that. Turns out there are some old natural gas wells outside of town, and they tapped into one. Almost everything runs on it. They need the diesel for some farm equipment they use to grow food."

We offloaded enough food and luggage for the night. The apartment had three bedrooms, and Rob, Bobbie, and Anna all carried their bags into one. I dreaded the inevitable question as Shaun and I both hauled our gear into one of the other rooms, but all anyone said was that dinner would be ready in about an hour. We took turns in the shower, me first because since my resurrection I could handle the not yet hot water better. I guess there was some advantage to being in a body that had been raised in a climate controlled lab environment rather than in sunny California. I was surprised again, this time at the absence of bleach in the water. After Shaun was done, we got dressed and joined the others in the now wonderful smelling kitchen. Rob had three skillets going, sauteing sliced peppers and onions in one, and cooking boneless chicken thighs in the other two. Bobbie was chopping tomatoes and Anna was setting the table.

We stood there, stupidly wondering what we could do to help, until Anna noticed our confusion. "Go on and sit down. They've got everything under control."

I had put a Coke in the freezer when we first got in, so I retrieved it and sat down. It was a bit slushy when I opened it, so I had to take small sips to avoid brainfreeze. Shaun settled in with a cup of coffee. A few minutes later Rob was slicing the chicken while Bobbie laid out the tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, sour cream, fresh guacamole, picante sauce, and tortillas. Rob set the platter of meat, peppers, and onions in the center, and we all dug in. I thought it was too much for us to eat, but I was wrong. It was quickly gone, with Shaun and I taking our fair share.

When we were done, Rob said, "Sorry about the meat. Didn't have time to marinate it, so I had to settle for a dry rub."

Shaun said, "My man, those were the best fajitas I've had since... Well, at least since I moved to Canada."

"High praise indeed. Though my dad would insist you can't call them fajitas, because the term refers to a cut of meat that chickens don't have." Rob sighed. "All these buffalo around, and we can't eat any of them."

I did some mental arithmetic. Rob was just about old enough to remember the taste of beef and pork. And, presumably, buffalo.

Bobbie leaned back in her chair. "Okay, story time. Way back in the dim dark past, there was a time when tens of thousands of people attended sporting events. Even farther back, the sports teams rode the train to out of town games. Such was the case with a baseball team called the New York Yankees. A number of sports writers were traveling with the team, and gathered in a dining car late one night. At some point, a player by the name of Babe Ruth entered the car, ran through it completely naked, and exited the other end. Following close behind him was a woman, equally naked, with a knife. One of the reporters looked at the rest and said, 'It's a good thing I didn't see that, or I'd have to report about it'."

I was wondering what the point of the story was when Bobbie looked directly at me and Shaun.

"Here's the thing. We've heard some rumors about the unusual closeness of your relationship, no doubt spread by jealous rivals. We don't care if those rumors are true or not. We are hardly in a position to cast aspersions on other people's consensual practices, even if we wanted to. Which we don't. Feel free to be yourselves. If anything happens that might damage your reputations, you can trust us not to 'see' it. To the best of my knowledge, that amusing anecdote remained untold until after Babe Ruth's death. You can rely on even greater discretion from us."

I murmured a weak "Thank you."

Shaun added a "What she said."

Anna spoke up. "Now that we have that out of the way, you boys shoo. It's time for some girl talk."

Rob stood up. "Come on Shaun, I'll give you a proper tour of the Dilemma."

As they left the room I asked, "Dilemma?"

Bobbie answered, "You might have noticed those huge bull horns mounted on the front of the LAV? Rob likes to spear zombies with them. After that, they would be on..."

I groaned. "On the horns of a dilemma."

"You got it. Rob loves puns. He has an enviable command of the language, and can twist it in ways most people can't imagine. I was a little intimidated at first. I started my business in high school and never saw the need to go to college. I used to struggle to find the right way to say something, I work better with images, while Rob is never at a loss for words. Well, except when he's mesmerized by the awesome power of the mighty hypno-boobs over there." Bobbie gestured at Anna. "But I'm getting better. And speaking of relationships, we're prepared to open ours up to scrutiny."

I had to laugh at that. "I'm from Berkeley, hippie capital of the country. I've seen stranger arrangements than what you have. Not quite at this close of a range, true, and I was surprised to find that sort of thing outside of California. Texas isn't exactly known for free spirits."

"A perception spread by people who have never been there. Hell, Austin has been referred to as 'Berkeley East' for decades."

I grimaced. I hate being caught stereotyping people. "Sorry. I'm usually more open-minded than that."

What followed was a discussion of polyamorous relationship dynamics, their own and those of other poly families they knew, soon devolving into a sort of seminar on the sexual gymnastics possible by groups of up to five people at once. Not an education I would have sought on my own, and not something I had much use for. Still, I was getting increasingly turned on, and there were a few tidbits I could put to use with Shaun. After the guys returned, Shaun and I insisted on doing the dishes, the one kitchen skill we had been experts at since our teens. Once that was done and we split up to go to our rooms, I dragged my brother to bed and showed him what I had learned.

* * *

_I really hope we can trust these people. They seem friendly enough, but I've had supposed friends turn out to be vicious enemies. When even my own parents can seriously consider betraying me, how much do I dare trust strangers? _

_And there is more than one kind of trust. I may specialize in playing with dead things, but I do have a few journalistic instincts. When I run the computer logs and see how much time George has spent viewing _Texas Zombie Reporter_, I can't help but wonder. Rob Phillips is an impressive man, handsome, self-assured, competent, and intelligent. In some ways, he's like me, only years older and more experienced. The company he keeps suggests he has a way with the ladies, something my brief, disastrous romance with Becks proves that I sorely lack. And he's one helluva cook. I know George loves me, but I haven't been the lover or the brother she needs lately. If it came down to a competition, I'm pretty sure I would lose._

**From _Hail to the King_, the blog of Shaun Mason**

**July 25, 2042 (Unpublished)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Painful Memory**

Shaun and I woke up early. We got dressed and went into the kitchen, where the setting moon shined in through the rear windows. I suppressed a shudder, those windows were unnaturally large compared to modern buildings. Three zombies could have climbed in through one of them at the same time. Still, they let in sufficient moonlight that we didn't turn on any lamps. While I didn't need dim lighting anymore, the gloom was still comforting, a pleasant reminder of my previous life. After I escaped from the lab, being able to control my own lighting had seemed like the height of luxury. My brother started a pot of coffee while I grabbed a can of Coke and went into the living room to boot up our laptops. Bobbie had told us that her network's secure access to the net bounced through enough countries and proxy servers that it would take even the best hacker half an hour just to localize us to North America. She didn't warn us not to post anything revealing, for which I silently thanked her. The day before I felt that we had come across as poor lost baby birds in need of protection, and I hated it. Being trusted to understand operational security on our own made me feel better. Shaun joined me with a steaming mug, and after a few minutes he wordlessly turned his computer so that I could see the screen. It was an email to one of his anonymous accounts.

* * *

_From: FightingCephalopods_

_To: Ash4127 _

_Subject: Taking a trip?_

_Kid, I always wondered how you could have a psychosis that was smarter than you were. Now I know. A little birdie told me about your problem. Using my vast knowledge of the field of biomedical research and my cunning analysis of the psychology of yourself and your sister, I predict you will soon be making a trip to Texas. When you get to Texas Biomed, look up a Dr. Andrew Carrion. He owes me some favors, so tell him I gave you permission to redeem one of them. If he seems hesitant, mention Hawaii. Don't make any jokes about his name, he's heard them all. On the exceedingly rare chance that Dr. Kimberly has come up with a better idea, disregard this._

_I wish we had a mind recording of Alexander Kellis. The documentation on Alpha-RC007 isn't quite as complete as that for Marburg-Amberlee. I'd love to be able to load him into one of my assistants and pick his brain to cover the gaps. Oddly enough, when I broached the idea at a staff meeting, no one volunteered. _

_Good luck. Your live sister was mouthy enough, it must really suck getting it in stereo._

_Dr. Shannon L. Abbey_

* * *

"You know, she's right. There were some clues." He tapped the side of his skull, "_She_ constantly had to explain things to me, and even knew that Becks was coming on to me long before I noticed."

"I'm more worried that Dr. Abbey figured out where we're going. That means others could too."

"They'd have to know what my 'problem' is. And they'd have to know that we know."

"Right. Let me ask Dr. Kimberly how widely she's distributed that little factoid."

I logged onto one of my own anon accounts and dashed off a not entirely polite question. We used the rest of our half hour checking out various news sites, browsing as guests even where we had paid subscriptions. We had just shut down our computers and leaned back to sip our preferred methods of caffeine delivery when the door to the other bedroom opened and the light in the kitchenette came on. I looked up to see Anna walking towards the counter, naked. She stopped when she saw the coffee already brewed, and turned to look around the room, spotting us on the couch.

"Oh! Good morning."

"Good morning," I replied. Shaun said nothing. I turned to look at him. He was plainly staring, mouth hanging open. I was surprised he wasn't drooling. The expression on his face was too funny for me to get angry. I looked back at Anna, careful to keep my eyes on her face. 'Hypno-boobs' was an apt term.

Anna briefly looked down at herself. "Sorry, didn't expect you to be up this soon. I tend to get a little casual about dressing around Rob and Bobbie, at least when the cameras are off."

I laughed. "Don't worry about it." Shaun remained mute. I elbowed him in the side, but he didn't react.

Anna poured a cup of coffee and set a tea kettle on the stove before hurrying back to the bedroom. A minute later our three traveling companions came back out, fully dressed. I was a little disappointed, as I wouldn't have minded comparing and contrasting Shaun and Rob. Purely for academic purposes, of course. This time Anna got busy in the kitchen while Rob and Bobbie sat drinking hot tea and coffee. Anna quickly got some crumbled turkey sausage and a couple of cans of sliced potatoes browning on the stove. I knew we had gotten some fresh potatoes the day before, but figured she was just saving some time. While that was cooking, she sliced and sauteed some mushrooms, then got out the leftover veggies from the night before. Seeing that she had her hands full, Bobbie started making toast.

Anna got a carton of eggs and three bags of shredded cheese out of the fridge, then handed each of us a small bowl. "It's omelets this morning. Put the fillings you want in your bowl."

I went with Swiss, peppers, onions, and tomato. Shaun opted for sausage and all three cheeses. Anna deftly cracked the eggs and soon had our food ready. Jelly for the toast came from a Mason jar. I almost didn't get any, having been the butt of too many cruel jokes referencing my last name and home canning while I was in high school. I idly turned the jar to look at the label, which announced that it was made from prickly pear cactus fruit and produced near some town in Texas called Marathon.

Bobbie saw me looking. "Rob did a story years ago about families holding out on old homesteads in west Texas. Some of them supplement their incomes by selling preserves and honey. He makes sure to go out there at least once a year to pick up a few cases."

The food was wonderful, and I was glad I had chosen to use the jelly after all. While we ate, Rob regaled us with stories of the hazards of collecting cactus fruit in the west Texas desert. If we were going to be eating like this the whole trip, I needed to get more exercise. Once the meal was done, I helped Rob with the dishes while the others went to pack.

"So, can all of you cook that well?"

"Pretty much. Anna paid her way through college as a short-order cook. She normally does breakfast. Bobbie was on her own at sixteen, barely scraping by while she built up her video editing business. She had to teach herself to cook or starve. As for me, I always wanted to help out in the kitchen growing up. If I hadn't wanted so badly to be a journalist, I might have become a chef."

"Bobbie is lucky to have you, then."

He chuckled. "She complains that I like to experiment too much. You haven't tried some of the failures. I only inflict those on family."

"Do you think you could teach Shaun?"

"Sure, if he asks."

Damn. I was pretty sure Shaun wouldn't ask. Maybe I could get some covert instruction from Bobbie and surprise him some day. A few minutes later we were ready to leave. Checking out was just a matter of handing in the keys, so we were soon back on the road. Bobbie asked me to take the first shift, so with some trepidation I slid behind the wheel. The Dilemma pulled out and I followed a reasonable distance behind. From the driver seat I could see a second shift knob that I hadn't noticed before.

"I didn't think they ever made hearses with four wheel drive."

"Yeah, I had it modified so I could follow Rob almost anywhere. Four wheel drive, larger tires for a few inches of extra ground clearance, steel plates protecting the undercarriage, and a diesel engine so in a pinch we can siphon fuel from the LAV. Rob's sister Jenny has a semi-retired auto mechanic working for her who was glad to work on something other than sports cars for a change."

I turned my full attention back to my driving. At least this hearse handled better than our van. The springs were stiffer, transmitting every bump in the road, but the seat was so comfortable I barely noticed. I guess Cadillac believed in building luxurious appointments into working vehicles as well as passenger cars.

I didn't realize I'd spoken that last thought aloud until Bobbie answered me. "Hah! If you were riding in the Dilemma you wouldn't think that. It was built by a division of Cadillac too."

Just as she mentioned it, the Dilemma crested a small hill in front of us and stopped. I braked to a halt behind it and to one side so that we could see what the problem was. About a quarter mile ahead was a small herd of buffalo, maybe ten to twelve animals. Even at this distance I could see the blood matted in their fur, a sign that they were probably infected. The Dilemma started into motion again, turning off the road as though to go around the herd. I started to shift into drive when Bobbie laid a hand on my arm.

"Hold on. I know how Rob thinks, he's going to lead them off the road and put them down."

I watched as Anna popped up through a roof hatch, shouting something I couldn't make out and waving her arms. That got the attention of the animals, and they started following in that odd half-trot half-shamble common to large infected quadrupeds. Rob stopped a few hundred yards off the road and Anna climbed out onto the roof carrying an old wood-stocked military rifle. Shaun followed her with the hunting rifle he insisted on bringing along even though he rarely used it. Rob stood up through a hatch over the driver seat holding a lever-action rifle of some sort. All three opened fire and the buffalo started dropping to the ground. Within ten seconds they were all down. While Anna and Shaun kept watch for more, Rob reached down through the hatch and brought out a CB mic. Bobbie hit a switch on the Meatwagon's radio and Rob's voice came over the speakers.

"M-town Lodge, M-Town Lodge, this is the Dilemma, come back."

About fifteen seconds later there was an answer. "This is M-Town Lodge, I copy. Returning so soon?"

"That's a negatory. Advise you've got a dozen twice-baked buffalo about fifteen miles south of your 20."

"They aren't in the road, are they?"

"Decoyed them off into a field first."

"Got it. Thanks for the service, discount on your next visit. We'll handle disposal. M-Town Lodge out."

"Dilemma out."

Rob put the mic away and sat down. Anna and Shaun climbed back inside. I turned to Bobbie.

"Twice-baked?"

"Trucker lingo for infected that have been put down. Half-baked means they're still shambling around."

"Ah."

"Your brother is a good shot. Remington Model 700?"

"I think so."

"Don't think I've ever seen him use it any of his reports."

"He prefers his crossbow, says it fits his image better. But Mom gave him the rifle and insisted he learn to shoot it. He takes it out to the range often enough to keep in practice. I'm glad it finally came in handy."

Rob drove around the carcasses and got back up on the road. I followed, keeping pace a little farther behind him than before in case of another abrupt stop. We turned off onto a smaller, even less traveled road. A profusion of weeds grew up through cracks in the pavement, sometimes so thick it was hard to tell there was a road at all. After about another hour, we arrived at what must have been Interstate 80. There was no access to the highway from where we were, but the road we were on continued under the Interstate. At this point the fence bordering 80 went up the embankment to the highway's shoulder, leaving our path unobstructed. I wasn't sure why they went to the extra trouble when it would have been easier to build the fence in a straight line. I was pondering how high the corruption would have to go to justify the extra expense of leaving a smuggling route open when the reason became clear. Ahead of me, Rob was passing under the eastbound lanes when a herd of deer bolted away from the Dilemma, white tails flashing as they disappeared into the brush. That explained it, the underpass was left open for the animals. We didn't have enough large animals left in our part of California to need it, and Canada doesn't bother fencing even the major highways in rural areas.

Once we were out of sight of I-80, Bobbie called Rob. "Hey, time for a bathroom break."

"No problem," Rob replied as he pulled the Dilemma to a stop.

I stopped behind him. I wasn't looking forward to squatting behind a bush out here, but I really needed to go. I was surprised to learn the Rob had a toilet in his LAV, an expensive model that incinerates the waste. Then I remembered that his reservoir condition was in one of his kidneys, making such facilities mandatory under public health laws. Since it wasn't private if there was anyone else in the vehicle, we all got out to go one at a time. It was good to get out and walk around a bit. I took the opportunity for a quick private chat with Anna.

"Look, I'm sorry for my brother's behavior this morning. He's not normally like that."

"I know the effect I have on some men. I'm used to it. And he already apologized. The important thing is that when the guns came out, he trusted me to handle my part of the action. Few of my old colleagues at the DEA ever gave me that kind of consideration."

"I've seen that tendency among men in law enforcement."

"To be fair to some of them, because of my education I was an analyst rather than a field agent. I only got tapped to go on raids a few times a year. But yeah, most of them are just plain sexist."

By then, everyone was done, and we started out again. Bobbie reclaimed the driver seat, and I could see the Dilemma clumsily jerk into motion. I wondered what the problem was until it went around a curve ahead of us and I could see Shaun's head sticking out of the hatch in front. He looked like he was having the time of his life. A few more hours went by, and we passed a sign lying face up on the shoulder that announced we were entering Utah. Shortly after that, a still standing sign of stone and wooden planks marked the boundary of the Ashley National Forest. We soon left even the remnants of paving behind, turning onto a narrow dirt road that was in surprisingly good shape. I soon saw the reason why. There had been a massive forest fire, probably within the past few months. The road must have been graded for the fire crews. We spent over an hour driving through the blackened landscape, with just hints of greenery starting to rise through the ashes. We finally reached the far edge of the burn zone only to be halted by a massive fire-damaged pine that had fallen, blocking the road. I couldn't see any way around it. I wasn't the only one, as Rob emerged from the Dilemma carrying a large chainsaw. Shaun and Anna followed him, and Bobbie and I soon joined them outside.

Rob finished fueling up the saw. "This is going to take awhile. Bobbie, why don't you come up with some lunch? It's about that time."

Anna spoke up, "George and I will keep watch while you boys go and get sweaty."

Shaun laughed at that, then he and Rob trudged towards the tree. The lowest branches were right where the tree was lying across the road, and Rob started cutting them away while Shaun dragged them off. With the branches gone it was clear they had a problem. The diameter of the trunk was nearly twice the length of the saw blade. They discussed it for a few minutes, then Shaun took over the chainsaw and began cutting wedges out of the log. When my brother was getting his electric chainsaw modified, he'd spent some time hanging out with the loggers. He must have picked up some useful tips along with that awful song they'd taught him. In fact, I could hear him singing "The Lumberjack Song" while he worked. Not exactly good for his macho image, but since the cameras weren't rolling it didn't matter. Twenty minutes and two saw refuelings later, he had cut through the tree.

They returned just as Bobbie spread a tarp on the ground and set out a stack of sandwiches, a bowl of potato salad, and a plate of sliced cantaloupe. We sat in a circle and passed the meal in idle chatter, each of us keeping an eye on a portion of the landscape around us. Once lunch was finished, Rob pulled the Dilemma off to the side of the road and he and Shaun dragged a cable from a winch mounted on the front. They wrapped it around the trunk right next to the cut, and when Rob turned on the winch the bare trunk of the tree easily pivoted on the root ball. With the road clear, my brother once again sat in the driver seat of the Dilemma and I spelled Bobbie driving the Meatwagon. Eventually we left the forest and returned to driving on something that might once have been a paved road. That respite lasted only a couple of hours, then we were back on dirt roads. However, these showed signs of more recent use. At the next bathroom break, Rob siphoned diesel from the LAV into the gas tank on the hearse, which was just about empty. Anna took over driving the Dilemma, showing more skill than Shaun, and Bobbie once again took the wheel of the Meatwagon. I took the opportunity to power up my laptop and check a map of the area. There were few paved roads in this part of the state, and all of those were still officially in service and therefore monitored by the government.

After checking with Bobbie, I took a quick look at my email. Dr. Kimberly had replied. She assured me that the only one outside of her team that she'd revealed anything to about Shaun was Dr. Abbey. The mad doctor was the only one she felt she could trust that had spent enough time with my brother to have an informed opinion about what was going on inside his head. I forwarded the email to Shaun.

Bobbie and I passed the next few hours talking about cooking, and I learned a lot. Maybe the next meal Shaun and I had back home wouldn't be quite so soul crushing. We were in the middle of talking about the best method of frying chicken when Interstate 70 came into view. Rather than crossing it, we turned to follow a service road running alongside a railroad track that paralleled the highway. About ten minutes later we turned towards the Interstate and arrived at a truck stop. We pulled up to the gas pumps, and the automated system was soon topping off Bobbie's car. It seemed to be having trouble finding the gas tank on the Dilemma, so Rob got out to talk to the attendant. Shaun walked back to where we were, and I rolled down the window so he could lean in.

"Rob says we can't be sure of having a kitchen at the next stop, so we're getting dinner here."

"Is he sure no one will recognize us?"

"Oh, he has a plan for that."

Bobbie said, "Oops, I forgot." She reached behind her back to unsnap her bra, then reached into her sleeve and pulled the bra strap out and down over her elbow. She pulled her arm out, then easily slid the bra out through her other sleeve. Shaun looked impressed, and I made a note to practice that trick sometime when I was alone. Bobbie unbuttoned her blouse and tied it up to make a halter top. While not as awe-inspiring as Anna, she still had sufficient cleavage to pull off that look. She would definitely distract attention from us. When we finished fueling up and pulled around to the trucker side of the building, I could see the other half of the plan. Anna emerged from the Dilemma wearing a pair of hot pink shorts that fit her like a second skin, and a white tank top that was just as tight. The top must have had some kind of built in support, because she obviously wasn't wearing a bra. As we walked up to the truck stop, Shaun couldn't take his eyes off of Anna, even after I elbowed him in the ribs. We arrived at a long row of doors. Rob pulled a card from his wallet and swiped it through the readers on two of them, then told us to go through one of them. He, Anna, and Bobbie took the other. Inside the door was a decon shower.

Once the door was closed, I took my brother by the arm and turned him to face me. "Look, Shaun, I know Anna is hot, but you're embarrassing me."

He flushed. "It's not that. It's just... Becks wore almost that exact same outfit once, to draw attention away from our faces."

I suddenly realized that the look on his face wasn't lust, but pain. I hugged him fiercely until he insisted he felt better, then we dropped our clothes into the cleaner and took our turns in the shower. Once we were clean, dressed, and had passed the blood test to exit the shower room, we headed for the truck stop diner. There we found Rob scowling at the cashier as he and Bobbie showed him their left hands. We joined them just as the cashier finished apologizing for something we didn't catch, and he waved for us to go in. Rob led the way through an arch marked 'Truckers Only' and we took a table. A waitress quickly arrived to hand out menus and take our drink orders.

As she left, I asked Rob, "What was that all about?"

"Oh, until Bobbie and I showed him our wedding rings, he thought she and Anna were a couple of lot lizards." Seeing my look of incomprehension he added, "Prostitutes who work truck stops. On the way out, you might see a little sticker with a circle-slash symbol over a lizard on some of the truck cabs."

"But only on some of them."

"To be fair, most of the trucks are owned by large corporations that disapprove of any extra decorations."

Shaun was looking around at the almost uniformly burly truck drivers, male and female, seated at the tables around us. "Are you sure it's okay to sit here?"

Rob pulled out the card he'd used earlier, and I could see OOIDA emblazoned across the top. "About five years back I did ride-alongs with some independent truckers for a story. After I helped one of them fight off a pack of zombies, I was granted associate memberships in a couple of owner-operator groups. So I get trucker privileges."

The waitress returned with our drinks and at Rob's suggestion we all opted for the buffet. It was pretty standard truck stop fare, but at least seemed to have all been cooked on-site. Come to think of it, a few days earlier I would have considered it pretty good. I guess the home cooked meals of the past 24 hours had spoiled me.

I looked around at our group. "You know, if we had another man along I think we'd blend in better. We'd look like three couples."

Bobbie said, "I invited Ice along, but he was under a deadline."

"Another journalist?"

"No, he's a freelance computer security specialist."

Shaun said, "Maybe I should wait outside. One man with three women ought to fit in just fine here in Utah."

Rob scowled again. "Those damned 'Mormon' fringe cults are one of the biggest obstacles to legalizing polygamy."

Shaun held his hands up. "Sorry, just making a bad joke. Though I'd think the churches would have lot to say about it."

Shaun was so narrowly focused on his own specialty that he was largely ignorant of other newsworthy issues, so I had to correct him. "After legalized gay marriage spread across most of the country, the major churches pretty much pulled their horns in and decided to just concentrate on their own congregations."

Anna spoke up, "What about those idiots in Kansas?"

I laughed. "You can't take them seriously. Sure, the 'good reverend' gets a lot of press by proclaiming that the Rising is God's wrath upon homosexuals like Dr. Kellis. Then he turns around the next day and says that Kellis deliberately caused the Rising because he's a minion of Satan. If the guy's parents hadn't had so many kids, you'd probably be able to count his congregation on one hand and still have a middle finger left over to wave at them."

That drew a round of chuckles, including a few from the nearby truckers. We relaxed, sipping our drinks, and enjoyed the luxury of not moving for a while. I virtuously refrained from getting dessert. My abstinence was aided by what had to be the most comfortable restaurant chair in which I had ever planted my posterior. I found myself wondering if truckers in Canada got pampered like that and how I could get in on it.

Rob finally broke the silence. "Anna, what do you think about going through Arches?"

"Should be an easy drive. The Park Service is working on getting it re-opened by next spring, so most of the roads have been graded and some have been repaved."

"Any chance of getting hassled?"

"It's Saturday so the road crews are home for the weekend. There are only six Rangers in the park, and maybe two on duty right now. A couple of years ago when Yellowstone was closed for the winter I spent a couple of months filling in for one of them, so I'll probably know any Ranger we see. I got along with them fine, so I can talk them into not reporting us."

"Any infected to watch for?"

"A couple of times a year they have some careless free climber fall off of one of the formations. They're usually so broken up that they aren't very mobile. There are mule deer and bighorn sheep. Arches National Park also has the only known surviving population of red foxes in the world outside of zoos, but they never get above forty pounds."

"How did they survive?" I asked. The Rising had pretty much spelled the end of mammalian carnivores that eat other mammals. Even in the ones too small to amplify, ingesting meat tainted with live state Kellis-Amberlee usually meant death.

"They haven't figured that out yet. One theory is that like the surviving coyotes, they adapted to a non-mammalian diet. Before the Rising, they were known to eat birds, lizards, insects, fish, and even fruit. Another theory that is gaining traction is that they're immune. All of the dead foxes that have been found and studied have shown signs of reservoir conditions. A few biologists think their ancestors may have been more genetically predisposed for them than the rest of the species."

"Let me guess, that second theory has been around less than a year?"

"Yep. Ever since a certain couple who shall remain nameless broke the story that such immunity was possible."

With an exchange of looks around the table, we all wordlessly agreed that we should not continue this line of discussion where we could be overheard. We got up to leave, and the cashier apologized again as Rob paid the bill. I thought about insisting that Shaun and I pay our share, but knew that would only spark another explanation of how much they thought they owed us. As we headed back to the cars, I saw that several of the trucks bore the 'No Lizards' stickers that Rob had mentioned. I wondered if there were lot lizards in Canada, and resolved that if there were I would do an article about them. Hanging around a few truck stops in the evening might get me some video that would draw more hits. Sex sells, after all.

Rob and Bobbie took the driving duties for what I presumed was the last stretch of the day. After less than twenty minutes on the road we entered Arches National Park. Not much to see at first, just more desert. At least it was a change from being hemmed in by trees. After a while, we started seeing some impressive rock formations. Then once we pulled onto a paved road, the impressive sandstone arches that give the park its name began appearing in the distance. I shamelessly played tourist, rolling down the side window to get clear video of the sights. Ahead of us, I noticed Shaun standing up in the roof hatch and looking around. As we approached what must have been the visitor center, a Park Ranger walked out to the roadside and waved for us to pull into the parking lot. As soon as Rob stopped, Anna emerged in her Park Service uniform, minus the hat. She talked with the other Ranger for a while, gave him a hug, and got back in the Dilemma. We were soon back on our way, enjoying the view until we exited the park and got to the main road. To the right, the road was well maintained. To the left, it was barricaded and crumbling. The flat terrain made it easy to get around the barrier.

Luckily, the bridge over the Colorado River was still intact, and we entered the burned out remains of Moab. Most of the damage was decades old, but some fresher scorch marks suggested that there had been a recent zombie sweep through the town. We passed through the center of town and into the outskirts where we stopped at a compound surrounded by a tall, rough sandstone wall. Through the gate I could see a campground. The campground office was a building I recognized. I'd seen identical structures decaying throughout California. They were all part of a nationwide chain of pre-Rising campgrounds, but I hadn't realized any of them were still open. Of course, this one probably wasn't open, not officially anyway. An armed guard met us at the gate with blood test units, and once we all showed green we drove inside. We stopped at the office, and Rob went inside, motioning for us to stay where we were. I raised a quizzical eyebrow at Bobbie.

She grinned. "At Marbleton Lodge the owner insists on eyeballing everyone who stays there. Here, as long as you pass the blood tests, they don't care."

Rob came back out a few minutes later. "We're in luck, they have a deluxe cabin available. Two bedrooms, A/C, bathroom, and kitchen."

I was relieved. I hadn't been looking forward to camping out in this heat. For that matter, I wasn't thrilled about camping out at all. We drove to the back of the campground, parking in front of something that looked more like a small cottage than a cabin. After we hauled our luggage inside, Anna suggested we take advantage of the remaining daylight to use the pool. We went to change and met up again in the main room. Bobbie wore a tiny yellow bikini that would have been just barely legal in California and probably violated a few laws in Utah. Anna wore a one-piece suit that would have been as demure and modest as mine if her body hadn't filled it out so spectacularly. Shaun and Rob both wore baggy trunks, mostly fulfilling my earlier wish to compare them. From the neck down they could almost have passed for twins, though Rob had a few more scars, including an old but nasty-looking bite mark on one shin. Only his face showed that he was around five years older than Shaun.

Grabbing our towels and handguns, we walked back to the office and the adjoining pool. Swimming had consistently remained one of the most popular sports for nearly three decades. Many people found comfort in being continually bathed in nice, disinfecting chlorine. Plus, zombies don't swim very well. Just walking in waist-deep water is a problem for them, and they still need to breathe. So even if someone has a heart attack and dies while swimming, they'll probably drown before they can attack anyone. We had the pool to ourselves and had a lot of fun splashing around until Shaun challenged Rob to a race. The rest of us got out to watch, enjoying the slight chill of the breeze across our wet skin. Still, I was feeling a little exposed so I wrapped a towel sarong-style around my waist.

As the guys swam their first lap, Anna quietly said, "Um, George? Shaun has been arguing with himself all day. And it sounded like he was losing. Is that normal?"

"Normal, no. Usual, yes. What was he arguing about?"

"Best as I could tell, it had something to do with my accidental exhibitionism this morning."

"Ah, that explains it." Both Bobbie and Anna turned to look at me, unvoiced questions dancing in their eyes. I sighed. "I guess it's time to give you the whole story, or at least the Reader's Digest version. After Shaun had to shoot me in the back of the neck, he started hearing my voice in his head. Later on, he even started seeing me. When he finally found me again, he didn't understand that I was real until he realized that Becks and Mahir could see me too."

Bobbie asked, "Did he seek treatment?"

"Yes, and that was a mistake. You see, after he'd been seeing a therapist for a while, it wasn't an hallucination anymore. The same technique that was used to put my mind in this body was also used to put a copy of me into Shaun's brain. The therapist was an agent of the conspiracy within the CDC, and they had some half-assed plan to drive Shaun crazy. Crazier."

"That's a little hard to believe."

"If I hadn't heard it from a source I trusted, I wouldn't believe it either. Worse, the other me is a jealous bitch." I looked at Anna. "The way Shaun keeps following you with his eyes is probably driving her up the wall. Sometimes when he is asleep, she can get enough control of his body to try to kill me. That's why we need to get to San Antonio. The Texas Biomedical Research Institute has the only remaining people we might be able to trust that have the facilities and expertise to help." It occurred to me that I had obliquely revealed more about my relationship with Shaun than I had ever shown to almost anyone. Among the living, only Mahir knew as much. I supposed I was starting to really trust them.

Bobbie and Anna both took my hands. Bobbie said, "Whatever help you need, you've got it."

Anna asked, "You want us to fill in Rob for you?"

I nodded. I didn't like having both of my hands held, but I heartily appreciated the gesture and the intended comfort. I endured it for almost a minute before trying to pull loose, and they let me. About then the race in the pool was on the tenth and final lap. As they neared the end, Shaun was a body length ahead until Rob grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him back. Rob reached the edge about half a second ahead of my brother.

Shaun came up sputtering. "Dude! No fair!"

"Age and treachery will always overcome youth and enthusiasm."

"Not true, we proved the supremacy of youth last year."

"As I understand it, you had some age and treachery behind the scenes on your side."

"Okay, point. But it's still not fair. I appeal to the judges. Ladies?" Shaun turned towards us and we unanimously voted him the winner.

Rob pretended to scowl. "Hey, two of you are supposed to be on my side."

"Sorry!" Anna and Bobbie chorused.

"Anyway, you had an unfair advantage. Every time I turned my head to take a breath, I got distracted looking at your sister."

I had to laugh at that. "Really? With these two sitting here you were dazzled by _my_ beauty?"

"What can I say, you look so right in a sarong."

There was dead silence for about ten heartbeats. Then the rest of us let out a collective groan that should have rattled windows for miles around.

Shaun was the first to recover his composure. "Okay, Rob wins the pun fight on the first shot."

The three of us jumped back into the pool with the guys. As the sun set, Rob, Bobbie, and Anna moved into one corner for a three-way make-out session. With a mental shrug and a silent "Why the hell not?" I swam over to Shaun and we followed their example, much to my brother's surprise and pleasure. After about fifteen minutes of that, we returned to the cabin. Shaun claimed the first shower as his prize for winning the race. When he was done he grabbed a cup of coffee while Rob went next.

When Shaun sat down on the couch, Bobbie leaned forward and looked first me and then my brother in the eyes. "If you two would like to join us for a while tonight, you would be welcome. Or if you don't want to make it a group thing, we're open to any combination you'd like to suggest."

Shaun nervously looked towards the bathroom door. "Any combination?"

"Sure, if you swing that way. Rob does, and you're pretty much his type."

Shaun and I looked at each other. I could see what he was thinking, and I agreed completely. I turned back to Bobbie. "Um, well..."

Bobbie settled back in her chair. "I didn't think so, but we had to make the offer. And _not_ because we feel that we 'owe' it to you. If you change your minds, let us know. Otherwise, don't worry about it. We won't pressure you."

Rob rejoined the group, and the rest of us took our turns in the shower. We sat around talking for about an hour, then went to bed. I was forced to admit to myself that the fantasy of watching Shaun with any of the three people in the other room got my motor revving, even though in reality he was mine and mine alone. My brother seemed a little out of sorts, but he soon responded to my, um, body language. It was at least another hour before we drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_This trip is going better than I expected. Rob is more at home in the wilderness than any man I have ever met, an ideal guide for a covert journey across the country. Bobbie is his perfect complement, the yin to his yang. Their relationship reminds me of what Shaun and I have. More, they show us what we could have had, if not for events that killed me and nearly killed Shaun. We have a second chance, but I mourn the time we lost. And how can we grow together with this shadow hanging over us?_

_Anna is like the 'lancer' to Rob's 'hero.' Competent enough to be at his back, knowledge of the outdoors to augment his own, calm rationality to temper his exuberance._

_Of course, Anna demonstrates a major way in which they are different from us. It's hard to imagine us allowing someone else to get that close. Maybe if Shaun hadn't messed up so thoroughly with Becks, and maybe if she had survived..._

_We do have another woman in our lives, but she brings nothing of benefit. If she were more like Anna and less like me, perhaps we could have remained happily living in Canada. _

**From _Expatriate Games_, the blog of Georgia Mason**

**July 26, 2042 (Unpublished)**

_George is right, I can't imagine a more ideal group of people to help us make this journey. That worries me. If they are so obviously the best choice, why did Mom try to steer us to someone else? Was she hoping to lay a trap for us? _

_Even worse, did she succeed? She had to know that George would instinctively avoid anything that Mom advocated. Did she manipulate us into choosing this course? And if so, why? Maybe she was honestly looking out for our best interests. Maybe she manipulated George into choosing the best option. I hope so. _

**From _Hail to the King_, the blog of Shaun Mason**

**July 26, 2042 (Unpublished)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A New Dynamic**

We were awakened by Rob knocking on our door and announcing that breakfast was almost ready. My brother and I hurriedly dressed and went into the main room where we were presented with plates of breakfast burritos, although Rob and Bobbie insisted on calling them tacos. Whatever they wanted to call them, they were delicious and I wasn't inclined to argue. We had a hell of time just finding tortillas in Canada, much less any kind of decent Mexican food.

Once we were done eating, Rob leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. "We have a problem. There are rumors spreading that you two are back in the US."

The wonderful meal suddenly turned to a lump of cement in my stomach. "Any idea where that came from?"

"A couple of guests at your hotel in Yellowstone claim to have seen you eating breakfast in the dining room there. They posted some fuzzy cellphone video."

"How fuzzy?"

Bobbie answered, "If Rob sent me video that bad, I'd smack him upside the head. I don't think any commercial software could make a positive ID from it, but some of the better government systems might."

"Is that all?" I asked.

Rob said, "We haven't found any gossip connecting you with us. There have been several reported sightings of you two in Idaho."

"They must think Shaun and I are headed home to California."

Shaun said, "Maybe we need to head the opposite way as quickly as possible."

Rob thought about that for a moment. "Good idea. I was planning to go pretty much due south and then angle over to west Texas. But we should be able to go across northern New Mexico to the Panhandle. That'll get us into Texas sooner where I know the lay of the land better and have more contacts I can trust."

Rob flipped open a pocket computer and turned his attention to the screen, fingers flying. I got my laptop and booted it up, and noticed that Bobbie had sent me several links. Checking the first one, I saw that she was right, the video was awful. Buffy would have pitched a fit at footage like that and probably would have smashed the camera that produced it. Then she would have somehow written a poem about it. I could barely tell that it was us in the clip, and I knew we were there. The next few links were the reports of seeing us in Idaho. There was something about the earliest sighting...

"Ha! I recognize the style. Dad posted the first claim of spotting us in Idaho. He's laying a false trail."

"Probably hoping to find us first himself," Shaun muttered.

I nodded in agreement. Skimming various news sites, I found that none of the reputable ones were giving any credibility to the reports of our return. We were getting some play in the tabloids, though. I took a look at _After the End Times_ and was relieved to find that Mahir was addressing the matter in just the right tone. He was waxing sarcastic, not bothering to take the claims seriously enough to even go to the trouble of denying them. The Border Patrol, on the other hand, was vehemently denying that we had entered the US, with a press release citing all of the various security measures that would have prevented us from doing so without being identified.

I looked over at Anna. "Would the Park Service have been able to identify us?"

"You came in with a tour group, right?"

I nodded.

"Then they'd have only what info the tour company gave them. The hotel concessionaire might have video of you, but they would only release that with a court order. I suppose they could be hacked."

"Not much we can do about that."

"Hm. One of their tech people has a crush on me. As soon as she heard I was assigned to Big Bend, she started talking about transferring there as soon as the hotel opens. If I promise her a date I'm sure I can get her to lose all the video from the time you were there."

"You don't sound excited by the prospect."

"I'm not. Ew. She's nice to look at, but she's one of those nuts that wants to kill all the large animals. Hardly ever shuts up about it."

"Yellowstone must be scary for her."

"Yeah, but the pay is good. They get a hazard bonus."

Shaun said, "Make her pay for dinner, then."

"Dunno. Might be better to skip dinner and give her something else to do with her mouth other than talk."

Shaun has such a charming blush, it made me want to drag him back to bed. Too bad there wasn't time. Rob kept plugging away at his computer, making exasperated noises. Bobbie looked over his shoulder for a while, then went to make a pile of sandwiches, enough for two meals at least. Anna went to go pack, so Shaun and I did the same.

Once we were back in the bedroom, Shaun asked, "Do you think you and I could trade places?"

I had been expecting this. At a certain distance, my brother has no problem with gay or bi men. But he gets nervous around guys that are attracted to him. To be fair, he's almost as jumpy around women who make advances at him, he just has more experience dealing with that. "Shaun, it's not like he's going to molest you."

"I know, but..."

"Look, you heard Bobbie last night. Unless we say otherwise, they're going to assume we're not interested. I'll bet Rob hasn't even hinted about getting down and dirty with you."

"Well, no."

"He made a good case for you three riding together, and that hasn't changed. What needs to change is your attitude, or Rob will be your only hope of getting any for a while."

"Yes Ma'am, message received and understood." He gave me a salute.

We went back into the main room, where Rob was briefing Bobbie on the planned route. "...I've sent it to your GPS. We might be a little less conspicuous if you stay about five miles behind us. Fuel is going to be a problem. There are some holdouts along the way that would have diesel, but if they won't trade you'll have to take the fuel bladder down to Santa Fe."

I broke in, "Couldn't we get diesel at Farmington?"

"I looked into that. Best information I could find, everything there runs on coal or natural gas. Even the cars and farm machinery have been converted to natural gas. It's not like any of the major gasoline companies will deliver."

Unfortunately, that made sense. After the Rising, the government ordered the residents of Farmington to evacuate to Albuquerque. They refused, and the National Guard was called out to remove them by force. The residents armed themselves and fortified the center of town. After a two-day standoff, the troops were ordered to open fire. Apparently all of the Guardsmen were graduates of the Imperial Stormtrooper Marksmanship Academy, because not a single resident was injured. After being threatened with prison if they didn't adjust their aim, the soldiers disarmed and confined their officers, then joined the residents of Farmington behind the barricades. Finally the Governor pardoned everyone involved and recalled the Guard.

All government offices and personnel where withdrawn, and any company that did business there faced fines and legal action. The power plant was sold to the local employees at scrap value, saving the previous owners the cost of tearing it down and transporting the materials. That savings was more than enough to pay the fine levied against them. The city reverted to a mostly barter economy. The citizens receive no government aid or services. Then again, they don't pay taxes, other than the few that venture down to Albuquerque to get goods that can't be produced locally. There were coal mines in the area, still operated to fuel the power plant. And as Rob pointed out, natural gas wells supplied their remaining energy needs. They also had oil wells, but without a refinery oil didn't do them much good. Last I had heard, there were still around 15,000 holdouts, nearly a third of the pre-Rising population.

Rob continued, "It would be a good idea to swing around Farmington anyway, outsiders tend to get noticed there."

"Good point."

The people of Farmington police themselves thoroughly. It would make an ideal hub for criminal activity, but that would be the quickest way to draw unwelcome interest from the government, and that is the last thing the residents want. Anyone who wasn't born there or hasn't lived there for at least a generation is viewed with suspicion.

We loaded up the vehicles and got moving, stopping at the office so Rob could check out. I took the first shift driving, staying about five miles behind Rob's position as displayed on the GPS. We headed south for nearly an hour before turning to cut across the corner of Colorado. A while later we were in New Mexico and turned due east. We took a series of county roads that didn't seem to have had any traffic in decades to go around Farmington, then rejoined the crumbling remnants of what had once been a rural highway. I was puzzled to see the Dilemma turn off of the planned route and head towards a place the GPS identified as Navajo Lake State Park, until Rob called and announced that we were stopping for lunch. By the time Bobbie and I caught up with them, they had spread out a tarp in a grove of short-needled pine trees. We sat with sandwiches in hand and guns in our laps, eating and enjoying the view out over the lake. Heaven help me, I was starting to almost enjoy this outdoorsy stuff. I glanced over at Anna and saw that she was picking up what looked like small brown pebbles from the ground, tossing some away and cracking the others between her teeth.

She caught me staring and said, "Pinyon nuts, one of the things I miss about New Mexico. Twenty dollars a pound in the store, free for the taking out in the woods."

I decided to give it a try, having enjoyed the taste and texture of the pine nuts I'd had on the occasional salad. I picked up one that I was pretty sure wasn't a rock and carefully bit down on it. It split open, and I pulled it out of my mouth only to find an empty shell.

Anna said, "That's an old one. They don't last long in the heat. Lucky this is just the right time of year for them."

"How do you tell the difference?"

Anna shrugged. "Practice. The older ones tend to be a little darker and have faint spots. I've been gathering pinyon nuts since I was a little girl, and I still get it wrong sometimes. Here, try these."

I took the handful of nuts she offered me and worked my way through them. If anything they were better than the ones I'd had before, and larger. Anna filled a couple of sandwich bags full of them while the rest of us finished eating. We cleaned up and got back on the road, Bobbie taking the wheel this time.

I asked Bobbie something I'd been wondering about. "If you all are going to be a family, why doesn't Anna quit her job and go to work with Rob? He even said that she would make a great Irwin. That way you could all be together."

"Anna loves her work, and feels that it's more important than putting on a 'freak show' for a bunch of shut ins."

"So she doesn't respect what Rob does?"

"Well, Rob does a lot of local color and human interest stuff too. He loves the outdoors as much as she does, and kills more zombies than some sweeper teams. She gives him a lot of credit for inspiring more people to explore the world outside of their safe little homes and helping make that world a little safer for them."

"What does she think of Shaun?"

"Hon, you and your brother were the catalyst behind bringing down major corruption in the federal government. Some of the money that had been disappearing into the black hole of CDC schemes is now going to the Interior Department, allowing more parks to be re-opened. She would bow down and kiss his feet if he asked, not to mention other portions of his anatomy. Yours too."

Getting back on the subject, I asked, "Is Rob disappointed that Anna doesn't want to work with him?"

"Not at all, in fact he's relieved. Rob refuses to work in the field with anyone he loves. He and his college lover became Irwins together, until Chris got bitten by a zombie and Rob had to put a bullet through his head. He doesn't ever want to have to do that again. The same zombie left that bite mark on Rob's leg."

Remembering the day that I had to shoot Buffy, I could sympathize. Then my brain finally seized on that last statement. "So Rob knew he was immune years ago?"

"It seems obvious in hindsight but he didn't realize it at the time. They were in the desert and he figured the zombie was too dehydrated to produce much saliva. By the time he was able to take a blood test, his immune system must have fought it off."

"Hm, I caught some of the reports from Big Bend. Looked like he didn't have much trouble working with Anna then."

"He was trying very hard not to fall for her. Anna told me she was frustrated as hell. She was attracted to him, and it was obvious he was attracted to her, but he stayed so emotionally distant. She finally resorted to literally flinging herself naked at him. And, by the way, if you publish any of this we expect a share of the revenues."

"Sorry, guess I did kind of slip into reporter mode."

"No problem, I'm kinda used to it."

We rode in silence after that. The miles passed by, the landscape changing from brown to green and back again. We traveled through what the remains of a sign proclaimed to be the Carson National Forest, thankfully on a road that still had some pavement this time. We arrived at the ruins of Taos, and Rob called to tell us to close up on him again. We found the Dilemma parked outside a fortified gate in front of a large house. A heavily armed man was walking from the house to the gate. Rob and Anna got out to meet him, Anna once again wearing her distracting shorts and tank top outfit, this time with the addition of a submachinegun hanging from a sling. Bobbie rolled down her window so we could hear what was said.

The man reached the gate, not quite pointing a shotgun at the pair. "What are you folks lookin' for?"

Anna answered, "We were hoping to trade for some diesel."

"Not sure we can spare any. If we can it won't be cheap, and we don't take credit cards."

Rob said, "We can offer medical supplies. Contraceptive implants, antibiotics, some class two drugs. Or we can pay part in gold or anonymous cash cards."

The man swung his shotgun to the side. "Sounds like we might could do some business. Drive on up to the house. You can leave one guard with the vehicles, but everyone else needs to go inside. Handguns only in the house."

The man with the shotgun opened the gate and waited there as we drove up to the house. When we parked, Shaun waited in the Dilemma while the rest of us got out. Rob was carrying a large satchel and wearing what I recognized as a Colt 1911 in place of the two high capacity .45s he normally carried, and Anna had traded her SMG for a leather gun belt bearing a holstered handgun. I had my .40 resting at the small of my back, and Bobbie slipped into a shoulder rig holding a large revolver. A teenage girl in a homemade dress welcomed us at the door and silently ushered us inside. There we found an older man, in his 50s, seated at a table.

"Pardon me if I don't get up, but it's been a long day. Please, sit down. My name's Dan." He reached across the table to shake Rob's hand.

"Hi Dan, I'm Rob."

"Yep, I recognize you. Won't ask what you're doing outside of Texas, none of my business. So, Jay says you're looking to trade medical supplies for fuel?"

"Yes sir." Rob opened the satchel and laid out an assortment of boxes, pill bottles, and ampules.

"Not any other place you could get diesel around here. Seems like it's a seller's market."

"Oh, we have enough to make it to Santa Fe if we have to. But I'm willing to pay a small markup to avoid the detour."

"Gotcha. We just traded for some family planning stuff a few weeks back, so we're good there. We could stand to lay in some other drugs for emergencies."

They haggled for the better part of half an hour before settling on 200 doses of antibiotics and 50 of oxycodone. After shaking hands to settle the deal, Dan pushed his chair back and pulled away the blanket covering his legs to reveal a neatly stitched but clearly infected cut on his thigh. He filled a syringe with antibiotics and injected it. The girl from before brought out a pitcher of iced tea and a tray of glasses, and Dan quickly poured himself a glass and used it to swallow a couple of painkillers. His daughter, or maybe granddaughter, poured for the rest of us. The tea tasted of mint, surprising but pleasant.

Rob spoke up, "If I'd known, I might not have bargained as hard."

"Would have taken all the fun out of it. Haggling is one of my favorite hobbies."

Rob laughed at that. "Glad I could entertain you."

"I'd ask you to stay for dinner, but I bet you need to get back on the road. Fuel tanks are around by the barn. Have to warn you, it's ag diesel."

"I've had plenty of cops pull me over, but not one has ever looked in my gas tank."

"I hear you. I've got a truckload of vegetables ready to go to market, help yourselves to a bag full in lieu of dinner."

"Thank you, will do. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention my passing through here."

"Like I said, none of my business. I don't go telling tales."

We made our goodbyes and pulled around the side of the house where we found a large tank up on a ten foot tower. Rob filled the tanks while Bobbie went to pick out a sack of veggies.

Anna asked, "Will the gas be a problem?"

"Nope," Rob answered. "The only difference is the sulfur content. Farms are exempt from emission standards. We'll spew out a little more pollution than usual, but that's it."

Once we were fueled up, it was time to get moving again. I was really getting tired of traveling. We went through or around a series of small, abandoned towns. After around an hour and a half, we used another unmonitored underpass to cross Interstate 25. Another two hours found us entering Texas at last. It was a good thing I had been to Texas before, or I might have mistakenly believed we were almost there. The state was so big that we were looking at another ten or twelve hours just to get to the central hub that was San Antonio. We started seeing more traffic on the roads. There were some small cities that were still operating in this part of the state, and we took to back roads to skirt around them. We came to an abandoned town, and the GPS showed that the Dilemma had stopped ahead of us. When Bobbie turned a corner and Rob's LAV came into view it had changed. All through this trip, it had a dull green paint job showing lots of weathering and scratches. Now it was a metallic blue, with "Texas Zombie Reporter" emblazoned on the side and a Texas flag waving(!) above the words.

Bobbie saw the surprise on my face. "Programmable paint. Rob saved for years to get it. I guess now that we're back in Texas he decided to throw off the camouflage."

"Ah. But why are they stopped?"

Bobbie pointed. I followed her finger, seeing three infected staggering down the street. They'd been dead a while, slow and lacking coordination. I wasn't surprised to see Rob and Shaun step out into the street, except for one thing.

"Um, why is Rob wearing a derby?"

Bobbie groaned. "He's been wanting to do this for almost a year. Please tell me your brother isn't a Three Stooges fan."

"Of course he is. I think it's hard coded into the male genome. Why?"

"Just watch."

Rob reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of objects I couldn't make out at this distance. He tossed one to either side, and as they flew through the air four legs unfolded from them and telescoped out to about three feet. They landed supported by three legs, with the fourth sticking straight up. The GPS display on the monitor set in the dashboard was replaced by a series of images. From the angles, they had to be coming from those two objects. I had always wondered how he got such great video without a camera crew.

"Where is this video going?"

"Hold on, let me check." Bobbie tapped an icon on the monitor. "It's going to the secure drive. It's write-only when it's connected to any network. Takes a special patch cord to get data from it. It'll stay under wraps until you give the okay."

"We'll want a copy."

"Deal."

Shaun and Rob stopped in the middle of the street to await the infected. Shaun looked back at us and I could see him mouthing "Hey George, check this out." Rob pointed at them, grasped his derby on the side, raised it up a bit, and rapidly tapped the front and back against his head. The pair was standing closer together than usual for this situation, and consequently the infected stayed bunched together, not having enough collective intelligence to surround them. As they got close, Shaun stepped forward and slapped all three across the face in one motion. At that point I understood Bobbie's Three Stooges reference, and I echoed her earlier groan. Shaun and Rob split up and backed away, with two of them following my brother. He grabbed them by the hair and knocked their skulls together, dazing them. Rob held a fist out to his infected, and when it swiped at his hand Rob windmilled his arm around behind him, bringing it over the top and smacking the infected on top of the head. It dropped to its knees and had trouble getting back up.

Shaun kicked one of his infected in the butt, sending it sprawling on the ground. He drew his chainsaw, turned it on, and repeatedly brought it down on the head of the other one. I was surprised that he wasn't doing much damage, then realized that he must be releasing the trigger just before impact. Rob's infected had finally gotten to its feet and Rob grabbed it by the nose, leading it around in a circle before the nose came off. It grabbed Rob's arm, but he shook loose. Rob spread his index and middle fingers and poked the infected in the eyes. It convulsed and collapsed motionless to the street.

"What...?"

"Zap glove. Rob modified it with electrodes in the fingertips just for this purpose. 120,000 volts straight to the optic nerves."

I winced. Shaun and Rob hurried back to the Dilemma. Anna, standing up through the top hatch with her SMG, handed down two pies. They turned back to their playmates, and each of the remaining two infected got a pie to the face. As they were stumbling around blind Rob drew both his handguns and stepped between them, simultaneously putting a round through each of their skulls. Shaun used a downed street sign to roll the bodies together while Rob got a kerosene can from the Dilemma. Rob stripped off his glove and tossed it onto the pile, then doused them with a gallon or so. They stood back while Shaun tossed a lit flare on the bodies, setting them ablaze. Bobbie and I went to join them while they wiped down with bleach towels.

As we approached, my brother was saying, "Dude, that was awesome!"

Rob said, "Yeah, that was fun. I haven't worked that smoothly with anyone since I was just out of college." He turned to Bobbie. "Tell me we got good footage."

Bobbie replied, "It was perfect. I wish we could post it right away."

"It'll keep." His face took on a more serious look. "Now that the fun and games are over, we have a decision to make. Our lodging options for tonight are limited. We can either find a building here in town that's intact enough to hole up in, or head down to I-40 to a very discreet hotel I know."

"How secure is this hotel?" I asked.

"I know at least a dozen reporters and one government agency that have tried to get their guest list without success. They take their guest's privacy very seriously."

"Like the Agora?"

"Some of the same clientele, not the same amenities. It's a love hotel, all theme rooms with separate entrances."

Shaun said, "Sounds like fun. I vote for the hotel."

The rest of us made it unanimous. Then Anna had news that spoiled the good mood. "I heard back from my friend in Yellowstone. She 'accidentally' deleted the video, but someone had already hacked it. She traced it back to a government server in Atlanta."

"Damn," I said, "The CDC."

"Probably."

On that sour note, we divided up our dinner sandwiches and headed out, eating as we drove. I had to let the burning flesh smell clear from my nostrils before I could eat. Allegedly, burning human bodies smell like cooking pork, but since pork went off the menu about the time I was born, I had no basis for comparison. It was after dark before we arrived at our destination, a twelve story building surrounded by a twenty foot high concrete wall. There were no signs or any other indications that it was a hotel. The double gate was automated, allowing one vehicle in at a time, the inner gate not opening until the outer one closed and everyone had passed a blood test. Marker lights in the pavement led us to separate single-vehicle garages. Bobbie and I had to sign nondisclosure agreements requiring us to accept a fine that was more than _After the End Times_ made in a year if we revealed any information about anyone we saw in the hotel. We took turns in a decon shower before meeting Rob and Anna in a small elevator lobby. Shaun joined us a minute later, and Rob punched a code into a keypad by the elevator door.

Rob said, "I got us the only adjoining rooms that were still available, an orgy room and an S&M dungeon."

As we got on the elevator, Shaun asked, "Which one do we get?"

"Well, the bed in the dungeon is a little too small for three people. The one in the orgy room will sleep six if they're real friendly."

He didn't ask if we were feeling 'real friendly' tonight, but I could see in his eyes that the option was available. I smiled at him and shook my head. He nodded in acknowledgment and handed me a printout with a room number and an eight-digit code. The elevator stopped on the tenth floor and we exited into a short hallway with a stairwell on the other end and two doors each side. Our rooms were on the right, and I punched the code into the keypad at our door. It opened and Shaun and I went inside.

The first thing that caught my eye was the wall behind the bed, with hooks holding a bewildering array of implements and restraints, most of which I couldn't put names to. The bed was a four-poster, and hanging from each post was a rope with a leather cuff on the end. In one corner was a steel cage, and in another was a pair of planks in the shape of an upright X with eyebolts at the end of each arm. To one side there was something that resembled a padded sawhorse. On the other side of the bed, a metal bar also equipped with eyebolts hung from an electric winch set in the ceiling. The wall separating this room from the one the others were occupying was made up of a series of sliding panels, suggesting it could opened up into one big room for parties. I couldn't begin to describe how the bathroom was equipped, but at least it still functioned for conventional use.

My brother and I stripped down to our underwear and slipped into bed. We cuddled, my head resting on his chest, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. It was hard being apart from him during the day, even though I understood the reason. At least we were together at night. As his heart thudded in my ear, I realized I was hearing another rhythmic sound, much sharper and punctuated by happy cries, coming from other room.

Shaun said, "Sounds like someone is getting a spanking."

I looked up at his face. "Sounds like someone is enjoying it. Maybe they should have taken this room after all."

Shaun saw the look in my eyes. "Don't you dare."

Too late. In a few seconds I was up and had Shaun turned over my lap with his boxers pulled down over his thighs. It's not as though he couldn't fight me off, but we sometimes enjoy some playful wrestling and he holds himself back enough to give me an even chance. This time I got the upper hand and I brought my palm down on his bare butt. He pretended to struggle, but with him across my thighs I could feel that he was quickly getting aroused. I kept laying light smacks across his ass while he continued to squirm.

Suddenly he yelled out, "Harder, George, harder!"

I granted his request, gradually using more of my strength until my hand began to sting. I leaned towards the head of the bed, grabbing one of the mildest-looking items from the wall, a kind of soft, floppy leather paddle. Each smack of the paddle on Shaun's ass was loud, leaving a noticeable red mark on his already flushed skin. Even if the others hadn't heard us before I knew they could then, and I didn't much care. Shaun's butt turned an even darker red, until I couldn't stand it anymore. I rolled him onto his back and straddled him, gasping as I slammed myself down across his hips. I rode him in a frenzy until we both finished at the same time, then collapsed across his chest.

It took a while to get my breath back. "I should have figured you for a masochist."

"Hey, I'm not, that shit hurts. But _she_ doesn't handle pain any better than she does booze. The first smack had her complaining and she went and hid when you really cut loose."

"And her absence was enough to get you that turned on?"

"Well, okay. The hot part wasn't the pain, it was that you were the one doing it."

"So you like me being in charge."

"Hell, George, you were always in charge. You've ordered me around ever since we first went into blogging together. It doesn't have to stop when we log off. You being the boss of me means all is right with the world."

Wow, that went right to my heart, not to mention my lower regions. I sat up, balancing myself with my hands on his shoulders. I slid my hands down his arms, gripping his wrists tightly and pinning them over his head as I leaned down again to kiss him. Our bodies still joined, I felt his response instantly.

* * *

_Why of course Georgia and Shaun Mason returned to the United States. What took you so bloody long to figure that out? They have been touring that benighted country for a good six months now. If you would like to meet them, I understand they will be in Tennessee next month to investigate rumors that Elvis is still alive. Shaun, naturally, is hoping he turns out to be infected. _

**From _Fish and Clips_, the blog of Mahir Gowda**

**July 27, 2042**


	5. Chapter 5

**Betrayal**

I woke up in the morning feeling better than I had in months. George and I had learned a lot about each other the night before. I had thought there wasn't anything I didn't know about her, but I was glad to be wrong. Of course, I'm usually wrong, so it was a comfortable feeling. I looked over at her, sleeping soundly next to me. The sheet had slipped down just below her waist, exposing the smooth curve of her back. I resisted the urge to pull the sheet lower and just watched her sleep instead, fully at peace with the world.

Unfortunately, the peace didn't last long.

_Shaun, don't go through with this._

I clutched my head. "Go away."

_Please don't shut me out. I'll stop trying to hurt _her, _I promise. _

"You said that the last time I chewed on the barrel of my gun. Then you tried to strangle George in my sleep. You were _created_ to lie to me. I can't trust you."

_I'm begging you, I'll do anything you want. _

The voice in my head took on a whining note that I had never heard from my sister in any of her incarnations. It set my teeth on edge. I stumbled out of bed, refusing to respond to her pleas. I scanned all of the junk hanging on the wall and picked the one thing I vaguely recognized. It was a riding crop, though instead of a rectangular piece of leather the end was shaped like a little hand. I yanked it off of its hook, accidentally knocking to the floor some kind of flexible tapered rod about five feet long. I tested the crop on my thigh, deciding it would suit my purpose.

I shook George awake and handed it to her. She took it with a puzzled expression on her face. "Please. Don't hold back. Leave bruises this time. Maybe it will keep _her_ out of my head for a while."

I went over to a padded, uh, _something_ that was just the right height for the ordeal to come and bent over it. I could hear George get out of bed and hesitantly walk up behind me. I heard her inhale deeply, then there was a whistling sound, and suddenly my ass was on fire. Georgia had been pleading incessantly in the back of my mind, but when the strike landed she screamed inside my head. Blessed mental silence followed. My own thought processes pretty much shut down, there was only pain as more blows landed on my butt and the backs of my thighs. Maybe I should have been worried that my sister was so willing to do this to me, even if it was for my benefit.

Finally, she stopped. "Ooh, you've got these cute little hand-shaped bruises coming up all over your backside."

"I'm probably going to regret this all day, but good job."

She laughed. I went to get dressed. I was pulling up my underwear when I suddenly changed my mind and got out the silk boxers George had gotten me for Valentine's Day. That felt a little better, though putting on my jeans was agony. George was fully dressed before I was, but I caught up with her before someone knocked on the panel dividing our rooms. It was Rob, asking if we were ready for breakfast. George and I followed him into their room. Rob had underestimated the size of the bed, I've seen a dozen squeeze onto a mattress smaller than that at one of Maggie's movie watching parties. I'm not sure what I expected, but what I found wouldn't have been in the top ten. The room was mostly dark brown with black trim, with overstuffed couches and piles of cushions mostly hiding a plush carpet. Sturdy, polished wood tables of various sizes dotted the room and huge video screens dominated the walls. Not a good place to run into a few zombies. Then again, they'd be hampered by the furnishings more than I would.

One of the wall screens displayed a room service menu and Rob handed each of us a remote. The usual guests that stayed here had expensive tastes, I didn't even recognize half of the stuff listed. At least, I assumed it was expensive, there were no prices shown. I finally spotted a simple three egg breakfast at the bottom of the menu and pointed my remote at it to make my selection. George selected the same thing, finally getting some use out of all that time I had cajoled her into spending at the range practicing since her resurrection. I wondered how people managed after a night of partying.

I picked the softest looking couch and carefully sat down on it. It wasn't nearly soft enough. Anna took the other end, also sitting a bit gingerly, and smiled at me. George quietly spoke to Bobbie, then they both went into our room. Whispers and giggles drifted back through the open door. I was tempted to go find out what they were up to, but getting up would have meant going through the ordeal of sitting down again. Meanwhile, the menu had been replaced by a bill for our stay and Rob was arranging payment. I blanched at the total, and at the fees for cleaning and sterilizing a riding crop, dogging bat, and sjambok. Presumably, one of the latter two was what George had used on me the night before and the other was the one I had knocked off the wall. Since I doubted they were spying on the rooms, I figured they must have pressure sensors on the hooks.

"Uh, Rob...?"

"Don't say it. Not only did you save my life, but you caused changes in the Irwin community that drastically improved my revenues. Hell, once it's safe to post the video from yesterday, that alone should bring in enough to cover this."

He had a point. Those Irwins that were immune from amplification, either due to a reservoir condition like Rob or who, as I did, acquired immunity from prolonged contact with someone who had a reservoir condition, could get away with taking risks that would have been unthinkable before. Stupid risks meant more exciting video, which brought more viewers and correspondingly better revenues. There was some talk in the trade journals of the other Irwins filing a class action suit claiming unfair competitive advantage, but legal scholars didn't expect it to go anywhere. Of course, being immune wouldn't save you if you were devoured by a pack, or even if a lone zombie chewed through a major blood vessel.

And there was no effective test for immunity other than letting yourself be exposed to live state Kellis-Amberlee. Since failing the test meant amplification, no one intentionally tried it. But about five months before they'd developed a method for determining if someone had previously been exposed and had successfully fought it off, something about residues stored in the fatty tissues. The bite mark on Rob's leg looked to be at least several years old, so I presumed he had gotten that test.

My musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, which Rob got up to answer. Anna leaned over and whispered to me, "If she used a sjambok on you, no wonder you had trouble sitting down."

"What the hell is a sjambok?"

"Traditional African weapon, kind of a stiff whip made from a strip of rhino or hippo hide, though all you can get these days are synthetic ones. Some people in online spanking and S&M forums call it the 'Weapon of Ass Destruction'."

"No, she didn't use that, it just accidentally fell on the floor."

Rob returned, followed by a room service waiter pushing a cart loaded with plates and wearing a pair of data glasses. I wondered about that until he turned away from me and I caught a glimpse of what he saw through them. They converted everything he looked at to a wire frame image. It would let him do his duties without actually seeing the people he served. The hotel really did take the privacy of their guests seriously. As he departed, George and Bobbie rejoined us and we all dug in. Rob and Bobbie had meals similar to ours, while Anna had been served what looked a large bowl of soup with a side of tortillas.

She took a spoonful and gasped. "Ooh, it's real! I haven't had menudo with real beef tripe since the morning after my graduation party."

Rob took a bite out of his bacon. "Well, that's still fake. Been almost thirty years but I still remember the taste of real pig."

George said, "Makes sense. The expense of cloning an animal and raising it in a clean environment means that any safe beef product is hideously expensive. But demand for the innards is low enough that tripe would be a lot cheaper than any cut of meat."

Anna hesitated. "How much did this cost?"

Rob answered, "Breakfast is included in the price of the room. The dinner menu includes real beef, pork, and lamb dishes at prices that even the usual clientele would think twice about."

"Did they serve me out of the wrong pot?"

George looked thoughtful. "I don't think this place would make that kind of a mistake. They're probably taking a loss on it, but it might generate enough word of mouth advertising in the Hispanic community to make up for it."

I said, "I wonder if Maggie has ever stayed here?"

George grinned at me. "I wouldn't be surprised."

We resumed eating. Bobbie finished first and started flipping through the options available on the wall screen. A bewildering montage of pornographic images appeared as she quickly changed channels, followed by an assortment of standard TV stations and feeds from news blogs. She stopped on a channel displaying a blank window, with the _Texas Zombie Reporter_ banner on top and a notice that the live feed was unavailable until the following week.

Rob said, "See? They're practically paying us to stay here. At premium subscriber rates, we'll have earned back the cost of our stay in..."

"Two years and four months," Bobbie interjected.

"That sounds about right."

We went to go pack. Once we were alone, I asked George, "What where you two conspiring about?"

She gave me a sly smile. "You'll find out later today."

We left our rooms and took the elevators down to the garages. Rob took the first shift driving and I claimed my usual spot in the computer chair. Anna sat on the cot as she normally did. I thought about asking her to switch places with me, as lying face down was looking very attractive. But if the pain was keeping Georgia out of my thoughts, then I needed to endure it rather than relieve it. The road was thankfully smooth for the first few minutes, but we were soon back on unmaintained pavement. The jolts whenever we hit a rough patch made my bruises throb. Anna looked positively blissful.

"You seem to be enjoying the ride."

"Mmmm. It's a constant reminder of how much fun I had last night."

I grimaced at a particularly bad bump. "Wish I felt that way."

"If you aren't into it, then why...?"

"It quiets the voice in my head. _She_ likes it even less than I do."

As we talked over the next few hours, I learned more about spanking, sadomasochism, bondage, dominance, and submission than I had ever expected I would want to know. I wasn't sure what the difference was between the first two, but Anna insisted there was one. It didn't really matter because I definitely was not interested beyond the need to keep Georgia quiet. The rest of the discussion, however, resonated strongly with me. Being cuffed and helpless with George in control had been one of the most amazing experiences of my life. At Anna's suggestion I powered up Rob's computer, while she stood behind me and directed me to a number of websites on the subject. She then pointed me to a list of ebooks that I might find helpful, and finally to an online catalog of fetish clothing and other gear. I was so caught up in picturing George wearing this one outfit made up mostly of leather straps that I barely noticed when a bump on the road caused Anna's breasts to brush against the back of my neck.

The Dilemma came to a stop and Rob called out, "Hey girl, distraction time."

Anna slipped off her boots and dropped her pants to the floor, revealing a pair of cutoff jeans that rode up high enough in the back for me to see a several long parallel welts across her butt cheeks. When she pulled off her t-shirt she was wearing a tight black leather vest with about a four inch gap in the front, held closed by leather laces. The day before I had finally been able to talk to her about Becks, and she had promised not to wear the shorts and tank top outfit anymore. By the time she had pulled off her socks and slipped on a pair of sandals, Rob had joined us and we stepped outside.

George and Bobbie were waiting for us, standing outside a store called 'Jacksboro Feed & Supply'. I knew we had been heading in the general direction of the DFW Metroplex and figured we must be near some of the cattle ranches that exist to keep the zombies in the Ft. Worth CDC facility well-fed. I had no idea why we had stopped here. George put on a baseball cap and pulled it down low over her eyes before leading the way into the store. We had to go in one at a time, getting a blood test in the entryway before being allowed into the store proper. George took me by the arm and led me to a section containing horse tack. I finally realized what she was up to when she started looking over a display of riding crops.

"I showed Bobbie the things I had used on you and asked if she knew a sex shop where we could get some of our own. She said they'd be a lot cheaper at a feed store."

I groaned. "I think I've created a monster."

"But I thought you liked playing with monsters?"

I had no answer for that. She picked a black and blue riding crop, which I supposed were appropriate colors. Then she looked around and found a bin of those leather paddle things that were for some unknown reason called 'dogging bats'. She grabbed one and made her way to the cashier, pulling one of our anonymous cash cards out of her pocket. I followed her but hung back a bit.

After George paid, the cashier, a woman somewhere in her 50s, asked, "So, which one of you gets to use them first?"

"Just me."

The cashier smiled. "Have fun."

I could feel myself blushing. We left the store and went to a nearby Mexican restaurant, going through yet another virus test to get in. Damn, I'd been getting used to not having to do that ten times a day. We were escorted to a table and handed menus. It was lunchtime, so the place was busy, and we had picked out our food before the waiter could get to us to even take our drink orders.

Once we had our drinks, Rob said, "Should be smooth sailing from here on. We'll be on 281 the rest of the way. It's maintained but not monitored."

"How does that work?" George asked.

"When the federal government abandoned it, the state took it over. A narrow majority in the state Senate blocked funding for fences, cameras, and such, so the Department of Transportation declared it a 'use at your own risk' highway. Basically, if you run into trouble, don't expect any help. There aren't any checkpoints until we hit the San Antonio city limits."

Sounded good to me. My ass would be grateful to be on a smooth road for a change. Our food arrived, and I was disappointed to see that my tamales were half the size of what I had been used to in California. I changed my mind when I cut into one and found twice as much meat surrounded by only a thin shell of masa. After lunch and a stop at the gas station, we were back on the road. Rob drove, for which was fine with me. This road was the busiest we had been on, and maintained well enough to drive at the Dilemma's best speed. Of course, its top end was a bit less than the speed limit, but I didn't have the experience with it to go that fast in traffic. Anna pulled up some books on her ereader for me about dominance and submission, then settled onto the cot for a nap. She hadn't bothered to put on her regular clothes, so the view was distracting as hell. Eventually the words caught my full attention, and I was engrossed in reading for hours.

Suddenly the chair swiveled as the Dilemma abruptly slowed down. I was glad it was attached to the floor. Then I was pitched out of the chair and half on top of Anna as Rob made a hard turn to the right. I could hear his voice coming from the driver's compartment, loud and angry, but I couldn't make out the words. I was just about disentangled from Anna when we were thrown into a heap by the LAV skidding to a stop. Rob had climbed out through the driver's hatch before we could get to our feet, and we hurried out through the rear door to catch up with him. George and Bobbie were getting out of the Meatwagon as we approached.

"Could you repeat that?" Rob said, in the tone a man who was trying to keep a tight rein on his rage.

Bobbie answered, "Somebody ambushed Claudia near San Marcos. She's alive and on her way to the hospital. Don't know her condition. They shot some kind of rocket at her, which missed. Then they opened fire at her with rifles. Four others, suspected of being her attackers, were also either injured or killed."

Rob stalked back to the Dilemma, drew back his fist, and threw a punch at the armored hull. At the last instant he opened his hand and his palm took the impact. I winced in sympathy. I've been known to do the same thing, but the hardest surface I ever punched was sheet rock. He leaned against the LAV, breathing heavily.

George asked, "Who is Claudia?"

"One of Rob's betas," Bobbie replied. "She mostly covers the Houston area and western Louisiana, but was doing some filler stories around central Texas. She had been in Austin and was headed south on I-35 to San Antonio when she was attacked."

Rob came back, looking a little more in control. "Someone knows you're traveling with us."

George said, "Our enemies aren't very nice, but I don't think they would try to kill your people just because you are helping us. Kidnap or threaten, maybe."

"If their intelligence is a little faulty, they might have thought she was me. She spends a lot of time interviewing families that have isolated themselves in the swamp and on small coastal islands, where there are few large mammals and fewer people. She goes where there are no roads and damned little dry ground."

"So she has a LAV too?"

"No, she has an old World War II DUKW. The LAV is basically an armored truck that can float. The Duck is more like a sturdy boat with wheels. But they're both military surplus six-wheeled amphibious vehicles. And she has the TZR logo painted on the sides."

"How could they have found out?"

"I don't know." Rob paused for a moment. "Wait a minute. Which one of you used the computer in your room last night?"

"We didn't touch it."

"Your bill showed ten minutes of internet usage a little after 3am."

"We were both asleep," George said. Then comprehension showed in her eyes as she turned to look at me.

I felt like punching the Dilemma myself. "That Bitch!"

Everyone else turned towards me. I tapped the side of my head. "_She_ can sometimes take control of my body when I'm asleep. I never thought she could do anything that complex."

Rob rubbed his eyes. "Right. We need to get back off the grid and only move at night. Have to find someplace to hole up until sunset."

"Hippie Hollow," Bobbie said.

"Perfect. We'll go around Burnet and cut across the wildlife refuge. Bobbie, put the word out, Plan B. Tell Jenny she has Mom duty."

"Got it. George? I need you to drive."

"Sure."

Rob said, "And try to stay close to me. I need to be in range to borrow some processing power from Bobbie's system." Rob took out a pocket computer and tapped a few icons. The exterior of the Dilemma changed. First it turned back to the weathered green paint job that it had when I first saw it. Then an image slowly built up of a large passenger van with a full load of children riding in it. As Rob walked around inspecting it, the images of the children began to move realistically. It wouldn't fool anyone up close, but I figured it would spoof most pattern recognition software.

Less than a minute later we were moving again, and the ride got distinctly uncomfortable. I asked Anna, "Any idea what Plan B is?"

"Yeah, I'm included in it. After the attack on their wedding, Rob drew up contingency plans for family, friends, and employees in case something like that happened again. Basically, everyone makes sure they're armed and groups together in secure locations. Don't go out unless you have to, and never go out alone."

"Sounds like basic common sense."

"Those are just the high points, it's a lot more detailed than that. Bobbie was glad he waited until after the honeymoon to start working on it."

We spent the next hour driving on alternating paved and dirt roads, then emerged onto a maintained street that wound past some high-end gated communities. I could see open water in the distance, then we left the expensive homes behind and were driving along the shore of a lake. A short time later, Rob turned to the right and stopped, then ushered us outside. We were parked inside a double gate, and a naked man stood before us carrying a handgun and a box of field test kits. The inner gate bore a sign reading:

Hippie Hollow

A LCRA/Travis County Park

Yours To Enjoy Naturally

Nude Swimming Or Sunbathing

May Occur Past This Point

Beyond The Parking Lot

Clothing Is NOT An Option

The naked man held out the box of test kits, saying, "Traveling incognito today?"

"Yeah, I've got some groupies being more obnoxious than usual," Rob said, taking a test kit. The rest of us followed suit. "If anyone asks about us, we aren't here."

"Normally I don't do that kind of favor, but it's not like you're hiding out from the wife," the man said, smiling over at Bobbie.

"Speaking of my wife, we're planning to go out on the lake, might be gone a few days. Can y'all keep an eye on her car?"

"I suppose so. Rather keep an eye on her, though."

Bobbie smiled back and said, "Any time."

The tests came back green, and we drove through the inner gate and across a parking lot to the opposite side. There were a couple of dozen other cars parked nearby. We got out of the Dilemma, and I noticed that at some point Rob had dropped the fake van image. George and Bobbie joined us.

"Okay folks, time to adopt the local costume," Bobbie said.

She, Rob, and Anna started taking off their clothing and piling it in the Dilemma. George gave a shrug and quickly followed suit, with me bringing up the rear. Speaking of rears, Anna was the first one naked, having the least amount of clothing to shed. I got a clear view of her backside and quickly decided that I never wanted to meet the implement that had left those welts across it. Then she turned around to face me, and I suddenly had trouble thinking. George elbowed me in the ribs, and I realized Rob was trying to hand me a beach towel, with an amused expression on his face. His gun belt was hanging off of one shoulder, and I followed his example. Bobbie wore her shoulder holster and Anna had her SMG hanging from its sling. George stood there holding her handgun, wondering what to do with it, when Bobbie tied a scarf around my sister's waist. It didn't conceal anything, but gave her a place to clip the holster. Rob disappeared into the LAV and emerged a few minutes later with a rolling ice chest loaded with drinks.

As we started walking along a broad paved trail leading away from the parking lot, George said, "Texas continues to surprise me."

"Only official public naturist park in the state," Rob said. "Been that way for almost sixty years. It was unofficial but popular for a couple of decades before that."

"That explains the name."

Some quick mental math told me they were talking about the 1960s. Ancient history was never my strong suit, but you can't grow up in Berkeley without learning a little something about hippies. "I'm surprised it's still open."

Rob said, "The regulars here were very attached to the place. Once things started to settle down after the Rising, they worked out a deal with the county. The park goers would handle operations and security to a certain standard and the county would allow it to stay open. After a few years, Hippie Hollow started generating positive revenue for the county government, which gave the nudists some leverage to get some rule changes."

"Like what?" George asked.

"The main change is that they could bring their kids with them again," Bobbie said, gesturing towards a gate by the trail.

A sign advised that only minors and their parents or guardians were allowed past the gate. Standing just inside the fence was an older woman, naked, looking to be in great shape for her age.

The woman waved at us, "Hey, Bobbie, when am I gonna be able to let you in here?"

Bobbie laughed. "Trust me, we're working on it."

"Every night, I'm sure."

Once we were well past the gate, I asked, "So the kids have to be locked up in a separate enclosure?" That didn't sound like most nudists I'd heard about.

"Nope," Rob answered, "Parents can take their kids anywhere in the park, and most of them do. It just gives the adults a place where they can relax without worrying about the kids wandering off or being taken by strangers, though they're probably safer from perverts here than in their own neighborhoods. And they've done some landscaping to give the kids a place to run around and play. Most of the terrain along the shore is pretty rough."

"Can they get to the lake?"

"Sure, they've got a cove back there. Gives them plenty of water to swim in, but it's surrounded by a fenced shoreline on three sides. There's some kind of barrier between the cove and rest of the lake. Not sure how they managed it, because I'm not allowed down there to look. But, as Bobbie said, we're working on that part."

I'm not usually that curious about things outside my usual interests, but I was feeling a bit overexposed and needed something to distract me. A little farther down the trail, we passed the first building I had seen here, which turned out to be restrooms. All of us stopped to take advantage of them, then met up again out front.

"We normally head down to the lake from here," Rob said, "And hang out at a place that for some reason is called Radio Rock. It's one of the main social spots. If we head a little farther down the trail, folks will generally keep their distance unless invited."

I looked through the trees and saw a few dozen people down by the lake. They looked like a typical cross-section of people you would find anywhere, but naked. They seemed entirely unconcerned by the their lack of the clothing, and I began to feel more relaxed. After another hundred feet or so, Rob led us off the trail, stopping at the edge of the trees a short distance from the water. He laid his towel over a rock, and the rest of us followed suit. Riding down a bumpy road was bad enough, but even with the towel folded five times under me, sitting on a boulder was worse.

"Okay Bobbie, want to fill everyone in?" Rob said.

"Claudia is out of surgery and stable. Three bullet wounds, none were immediately life-threatening. One in her outer thigh, one through her small intestine, and the last glanced off a rib. They went through the hull of the Duck first, which slowed them down. They attacked her first with a Light Antitank Weapon. It passed through the shell without detonating."

Rob added, looking at me and George, "A DUKW is normally open to the elements. Claudia got a sheet metal top made for hers."

Bobbie continued, "Then they opened fire with rifles, and Claudia shot back. A trucker going northbound stopped to help her. According to his account, there were seven attackers and five of them were hit. The other two helped one of the wounded get away, after killing at least two of their wounded accomplices. All four were dead at the scene when the police arrived."

"Damn," I said. "So what do we do now?"

"We stay here until nightfall, then take the Dilemma across the lake. That will let us reach a network of old country roads. I doubt they have the manpower to watch them all. We'll probably repeat that trick at Canyon Lake. South of there I've got a friend who will give us a place to stay and would probably be willing to loan us a truck to get y'all to Texas Biomed."

"I'm really sorry about all of this."

"You couldn't predict that anything like this would happen."

"Maybe we should just cut our losses and go home."

"No," George said. "It's too late to back out now. We have to see this through."

Rob nodded. "Now that we have that settled, we have some time to kill. Sunblock, anyone?"

Anna and Bobbie declined. George and I accepted gratefully, having lost what little tan we had over the long Canadian winter. George went first, and the sight was somehow both innocent and erotic. On the one hand, she was simply protecting herself from the sun. On the other, she was rubbing sunscreen into parts of her that normally stayed covered even at the pool. I went next, being careful to apply a liberal coating over the more sensitive bits, then tried to hide the resulting erection with my towel. Then it was Rob's turn, and I caught George watching out of the corner of her eye as he started dabbing the sunblock on below his waist. Admittedly, if I was at all attracted to men, I would have watched too. The girls took their towels and went out into the sunlight. The ground sloping down to the water was mainly limestone blocks and ledges. It didn't really slope, it was more like a giant staircase. So, it took them a few minutes to find good spots to lay out.

George finally picked a ledge and settled in, untying the scarf from her waist but keeping her gun close at hand. "I was really hoping for something more like a beach."

Rob said, "It _is_ a beach, just with really big grains of sand."

No one approached us, but once the women were out sunbathing I noticed the number of people walking along the waterline had increased. They were polite enough not to stare, but they did keep sneaking glances. I found it hard not to stare myself. Anna was pretty much a wet dream made flesh. Bobbie didn't have the same abundance of curves, but was still stunning. But no matter how attractive the other two were, my gaze kept turning to George. I had never seen her nude in full daylight before, and I was entranced. It was more than just physical beauty, though she had that in plenty. She was so relaxed and open to the world around her that it was as though a tightly closed bud had suddenly burst into full bloom. I noticed that the gazes of passers by lingered on her as much as on the others, and I started to understand what she felt about the love letters I sometimes got from groupies. A little bit of jealousy, but mostly pride. She freely gave me what others could only hopelessly want.

That train of thought was derailed by the suspicion that I had spent way too much time hanging around with Fictionals. With everything that was going on, I figured I could be excused for not quite being myself. After about an hour, the ladies clambered down to the water to swim, so Rob and I joined them. The cool water was a relief in more ways than one. It was a triple benefit, refreshing after the heat of the afternoon, soothing my bruised butt, and hiding the fact that I had everything hanging out. I was starting to feel more comfortable with public nudity, but it was good to take a break. Being unarmed was little unnerving, but we all took turns staying by the shore where our guns waited. George and I sat together on an underwater rock. I slipped an arm around her waist, and she rested her head on my shoulder.

"Shaun, when this is over I think we need to move."

"Where to? Not sure we can afford a place around here."

"Not here, but a house with a back yard that gets lots of sun and a high privacy fence. And a pool."

The thought of George laying out nude in the sun whenever the weather cooperated was intriguing. I resolved to start house hunting as soon as possible. Once we starting feeling a bit waterlogged, we climbed out to dry off. Lunch was supplied by a hot dog vendor that was wheeling her cart up and down the trail. I wondered how we were supposed to pay, but it turned out that one of the magazine pouches on Rob's belt held a roll of cash. I was a bit relieved that the vendor was a woman. Buying wieners from a naked man would not have helped my appetite. By the time we were finished eating, the sun was going down and we made our way back to the Dilemma.

As we were getting dressed, Rob said, "Okay, we can't get down to the water from here without tearing up the landscape."

"Would anyone notice?" I asked.

"Yeah, they would. Though you might not notice the concussion you'd get bouncing over those rocks."

"Good point."

"There's an abandoned boat ramp about a mile away that we can use. It's on a point that juts out into the lake, so we won't have to spend as much time on the water. The lake winds around a bit, so we'll cross it three times, but this first crossing will be the longest."

Rob climbed into the driver's seat and Bobbie claimed the swivel chair, turning a knob that locked it into position facing the computer. Could have saved myself a wild ride if I had noticed that earlier. On the other hand, it had given me a genuine reason to accidentally sprawl across Anna. Speaking of Anna, she took one end of the cot. With a sly smile in my direction, George sat at the other end, leaving the only available spot for me in between them. I sat down and the Dilemma started moving.

Rob said, "Bobbie, would you get hold of Karl and see if he can have someone meet us at his north gate in about three hours?"

"On it."

As Bobbie typed away on the computer, Rob drove out of the parking lot. After a few minutes, the Dilemma headed down a moderate slope while George and Anna leaned against me for mutual support. I was a bit disappointed when we entered the water, because the ride was so smooth that further support was not needed. We weren't moving very fast across the lake, best as I could tell we weren't even going 5 mph. It was around twenty minutes before we climbed up the opposite shore. That was followed by a few minutes of negotiating abandoned roads than a shorter water crossing. Soon there was a third crossing, and then about an hour of travel overland. It would have been nice to see some of the landscape, but Rob was driving without lights. During my stints of driving, I had noticed the LAV had a passive infrared system, but never had the opportunity to use it. Rob clearly had plenty of practice with it, driving just as surely as in broad daylight. Then we were in the water again, presumably at Canyon Lake this time. That took nearly half an hour, and forty-five minutes after that we stopped. I heard Rob talking to someone outside, but couldn't make out the words.

Bobbie was closer to the conversation and could hear more. "Hey, it's Big George. I'm gonna ride with him to the house."

George asked, "Does that mean there's a Little George?"

Bobbie grimaced. "Used to be. An infected coyote got him during Rob's first visit here."

That put a damper on any further conversation as Bobbie climbed out. We were soon in motion again, with Rob finally turning on some lights. We were traveling a dirt road winding through some thickly wooded hills. After a few miles, we crossed a small stream and passed through a gate onto a paved street that sloped steeply upward. About a third of the way up we turned right and stopped in front of a house. It was clearly a pre-Rising structure judging by the large windows, but those were securely barred. We climbed out with our luggage. Bobbie met us at the door while a quad cab truck drove away.

"Karl apologizes for the accommodations, all he has available is a bunk room. We have a breakfast invitation to the main house in the morning."

"So long as there's enough beds, I won't complain," I said.

"No worries on that, it sleeps six."

We took our turns at the test unit by the door, then made our way upstairs to a room with three sets of bunk beds. Then we had to wait in line for the bathroom. George kissed me goodnight before stripping to her underwear and taking an upper bunk. I matched her state of undress and took the bed beneath her. I was in the midst of trying to discreetly ogle Anna and Bobbie as they got ready for bed when I fell asleep.

* * *

_Thanks to your failure, the targets are not only unscathed they are now forewarned. I will therefore be forced to expend assets that have been painstakingly put into place over the course of years. You may consider your contract terminated. You may also consider yourselves terminated should my security forces ever cross paths with you. I suggest fleeing the country as your best option for long-term survival. _

_You came recommended to me as highly competent and efficient. Obviously my source was overly generous in rating your ability. Your only unmitigated benefit to me is your deniability, which is hardly sufficient for my needs. Indeed, you are certainly fortunate in the complete scope of your incompetence, for had you correctly identified and attempted to service the proper targets instead of mistakenly assaulting one lone woman, I suspect you would not have escaped with a mere five casualties. _

**- Excerpt from encrypted email, sender and receiver unknown**


	6. Chapter 6

**Ostrich Ranch, Zombie Farm, and Monkey House **

I woke slowly the next morning, blearily aware of people moving around the room. I opened my eyes to see Shaun leaving the room with a towel. Bobbie had evidently already showered and was getting dressed. I sat up to find a Coke sitting on the bedpost next to me. Trust Shaun to anticipate my needs. I opened it and drank half of it down, feeling my brain cells starting to kick in. I was met with a chorus of "Good morning"s and managed something that might charitably be called a coherent reply. Clearly I needed more caffeine, so I drained the can. I hopped down and found a trash can, then sat on the bottom bunk to wait for my turn in the shower.

I finally mastered the power of speech and asked, "So what's our schedule look like for today?"

Rob answered, "We're expected for breakfast in about an hour. Since you and I slept the latest, we're last in line for the shower. I'd offer to share, but it's a little too small."

I had to smile at that. I could tell he was flirting just for the fun of it, not because he expected it to go anywhere. I replied in kind, pulling one foot up on the bed, wrapping my arms around my shin, and resting my cheek on my knee as I looked at him. Shaun calls that my most alluring pose. Lately I had been working on projecting a bit of sex appeal. Now that my eyes were perfectly normal, I needed something else to knock people a little off balance. I refused to be blatant about it, like some of the bimbos that try to pass themselves off as reporters and Presidential candidates, instead aiming for an effect below the conscious level.

I saw Rob react, and took the opportunity to ask something that had been bugging me for a while. Adult-onset retinal K-A was rare but not unheard of. Live viral colonies in the testes and ovaries were known to manifest during puberty. But as a far as I knew, reservoir conditions in organs attached to major blood vessels, such as the kidneys, only occurred when live-state Kellis-Amberlee went systemic in a human or other mammal that was below the 40 pound limit at the time.

"Rob, you were five at the time of the Rising, right?"

"Yes."

"You're about the same height and build as Shaun, and he was close to 50 pounds by the time was he was five. If I'm not prying too much, how is it that you have that particular reservoir condition?"

Bobbie flinched when I asked the question, but Rob answered without hesitation. "I was a scrawny kid. The chemo pretty much killed my appetite."

"Chemo?"

"I had Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. I was one of the small percentage of children who didn't respond well to treatment, and wasn't expected to make it to my sixth birthday."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah. My parents tried to get me into the Marburg-Amberlee trial, but I didn't meet the criteria. So, the Rising saved my life. Ironic, isn't it? If it meant billions of people would still be alive, I'd rather have died."

I jumped up and threw my arms around him. I had never been much for hugging before I was killed. I wasn't sure if that was one of the ways I differed from the original, or if it was a reaction to being so isolated from human contact in the weeks following my rebirth. Rob hesitated for a moment and then hugged me back, while Bobbie and Anna joined in from the sides.

Shaun chose that moment to come back into the room and announce, "No fair starting the orgy without me."

We all burst out laughing, breaking the somber mood. Anna departed for her own shower, then Rob and I took our turns. Once we were dressed, we walked to the bottom of the hill and across the street. We crossed a bridge over a small stream, and from there it was a short distance to the house. If you had to pick a pre-Rising structure to defend from zombies, you could do a lot worse than the building in front of us.

It was up on piers, about four or five feet off the ground, with a stucco exterior. The windows weren't up to modern building codes, but they were much narrower than I'd seen on any other 20th century home. There was a balcony on the second floor, higher than even the freshest infected could spit or fling blood, that would make a great firing platform. We were about to meet a man who had successfully defended his family during the Rising. The night before, Bobbie had pulled up the interview Rob had done with the owner, so I knew it had been a close thing, but he had still prevailed.

The front door opened into a small entry room with a second door and a test unit. It was a standard deadlock design, the inner door wouldn't open until the outer was shut and a clean blood test was registered. Not the most secure way to do it, as there was nothing to prevent more than one person going through at a time, but adequate for a private dwelling where you could trust the residents and guests. We went through one at a time, Rob first, and gathered in a living room.

Rob said, "They must be out on the deck," and led the way through a wonderful-smelling kitchen and out onto a large patio.

It was bounded on two sides by the smooth masonry exterior walls of the house, the other two sides and the roof appeared to be glass panes set in a steel frame. I suspected it was really aluminum oxynitride, aka 'transparent aluminum.' From what I remembered of Mom's security catalogs, those panes would have been the largest size of ALON panels available about fifteen years earlier. The deck appeared to see frequent use, equipped with a bar, large TV screen, a hot tub, comfortable furniture, and a table set for seven.

A man and woman in their late sixties stood up as we entered. I recognized the man as our host from the recording of Rob's interview, and as he started to speak I suddenly heard a low growl come from my right. I looked over and saw a large dog rising to its feet. It wasn't a breed I recognized, having a long ridge of fur running down its back. It had a bandage on one shoulder and had its eyes fixed on Rob with its teeth bared menacingly.

"Daisy! Down! Friend!" He looked back towards us as the dog settled down. "Rob, you haven't been visiting often enough, she doesn't remember you."

"Sorry Karl, but I've got to make a living."

"True enough." Karl looked at me and Shaun. "I know the rest of these juvenile delinquents but I haven't been introduced to you two. I'm Karl and this is my wife, Marie."

If Rob trusted this man, then so would I. "I'm Georgia Mason, and 'delinquent' is an apt term for my brother Shaun here."

Shaun nodded in agreement. "So, what's with the dog?"

Karl said, "She's a Rhodesian Ridgeback hound, induced with a reservoir condition as a pup. I've got three others out protecting the flock, but Daisy got bit by an infected deer the other day and is on light duty while she recovers."

Hearing her name, Daisy got up and limped over to Karl to be petted while still glaring at Rob.

"What does she have against Rob?" Shaun asked.

"They can smell live-state virus, even reservoir conditions. They're trained not to attack if you hold still or run away, so if there are any immune deer running around out there they'll be safe."

"Impressive."

"Yep. Anyway, y'all go on and sit down. Breakfast will out in a flash."

Karl and Marie went to the kitchen while we sat at the table, and Rob said, "There's Cokes at the bar if you want one."

"I'm just fine," I said, reaching for a carafe of orange juice. With most of the population afraid to leave their homes, there just isn't as much transport capacity as there used to be. Produce gets harder to find and more expensive the farther you are from where it's grown, and that goes double for labor-intensive crops like citrus fruits. I hadn't had a decent glass of OJ since before I died. Texas used to be the third largest producer of oranges in the country. After what happened in Florida while I was a 'guest' of the CDC, it had moved up to second.

Our hosts returned bearing food. Marie set down bowls of biscuits and hash browns, and a platter bearing an omelet the size of half of a large pizza, already cut into portions.

"Wow!" Shaun said. "How many eggs did that take?"

"Only one," Marie replied. "Don't worry, other than the size they aren't much different from chicken eggs."

Karl had a couple of plates of sausage and a pot of cream gravy. "The white plate is ostrich, the green one is gator."

Shaun helped himself to a liberal portion of alligator sausage. After snagging a small piece off of his plate, I got some of each. The rest of the food was passed around and we made idle conversation as we ate.

When we were done, Karl leaned forward and tented his fingers together. "Rob, got a call from your sister last night. She asked me to pass along a message, said she didn't want to risk contacting you directly."

"What's up now?" Rob asked.

"The Mexican consulate in San Antonio has filed a formal request that you be prosecuted for murder and terrorism in the deaths of seven of their citizens. They claim your actions in Big Bend meet the standards of the Raskin-Watts decision for weaponized use of the Kellis-Amberlee virus."

"That's a load of crap."

"I know, but a subpoena has been issued requiring you to appear before a hearing in the federal district court downtown. Your lovely lady friend Anna is also being subpoenaed as a material witness."

"Remarkable timing," I said.

"Yep," Rob said. "If the Mexican government cared all that much they would have said something a couple of years ago. Funny that it comes up at the worst possible time."

"Well, until you actually get served with the subpoena, you're not required to abide by it, so you just have to stay out of contact."

"It means that Anna and I don't dare go into town. I don't like having to split up."

Karl interjected, "If you need to get your friends into San Antonio, I can help. I have a delivery scheduled for tomorrow, but I can move it up a day. The police manning the checkpoint on 281 are so used to seeing my trucks that they don't bother to check IDs anymore."

"That might work."

"No it won't," Bobbie said. "The cops would recognize you in an instant, and Anna is a little too memorable. I'll drive them."

Rob sighed. "Okay, you have a valid point."

"Now that we have that settled," Karl said, "How about a tour while the truck is being loaded?"

No one demurred, so we all trooped outside. We hadn't noticed them the night before, but in the daylight the flocks (herds?) of ostriches scattered about the area were impressive. We got to see where the alligators were penned up and fed a sterilized diet to ensure any infected meat was cleared out of their digestive tracts. Then we followed the stream down to a marshy area to observe the alligators in their natural habitat. I learned more about ostrich and alligator raising than I really wanted to, but some bits were interesting. Then it was back to the main house, or rather a new-looking building next to it.

Karl ushered us inside. "I decided to take a page from Rob's book and branch into merchandising. I cut out the middleman by buying a couple of digital clothing printers and setting up this shop."

Rob said, "I've been thinking about moving our t-shirt production in-house. How's that working out for you?" He and Karl moved off, discussing relative costs.

Marie said, "As a souvenir, feel free to help yourselves to a shirt. If ostriches aren't your thing, Karl practiced by recreating some small batches of t-shirts from his younger days. We can't sell them because the artwork is still under license, but I think we can give a few away."

I'd heard that sort of thing before. People are always trying to get journalists to use their products for the free advertising. Still, Marie seemed less self-serving than the usual run, so I took a look at what was available. The printing was a little rough, I would have rejected them if they had come from our suppliers, but I suspected that was an artifact of copying from existing shirts. To my surprise, there was one I immediately had to have. It bore an image of the Capitol Building with the words "Never Underestimate the Power of Stupid People in Large Groups." It spoke to my cynical journalistic heart.

Shaun picked out one that read "The Hardest Part About a Zombie Apocalypse Will Be Pretending I'm Not Excited." Hard as it was to believe, some people before the Rising thought that way, or at least pretended to. Then again, some women wrote love letters to serial killers.

Anna took a shirt bearing a picture of a mountain lion and a brief description of it's habits and hunting skills. I supposed that was appropriate for a Park Ranger. The art was particularly fuzzy, it appeared that the original had been embroidered.

Bobbie bypassed the vintage t-shirts and selected one showing a recipe for an ostrich-egg omelet. Most of the text was increasingly ridiculous methods for accomplishing the difficult task of cracking the egg open.

Then Shaun said, "Hey George, check this out."

He was holding up a shirt that had what looked like a college seal, except that there was a green, tentacled thing in the center. It read "Miskatonic University: Home of the Fighting Cephalopods."

Karl had rejoined us by then. "Ah, that's one my favorites. Seems like nobody reads Lovecraft anymore. The man who supplied my dogs requested one of those as a gift for his former boss."

Shaun and I exchanged glances. That explained Dr. Abbey's new email address. Meanwhile, Rob had picked up a shirt that read "I Like My Zombies Free Range. They Just Die Better That Way." My faith in humanity sank a little further at this example of pre-Rising culture. Most people today wouldn't get the joke. Karl had the first free range livestock operation I'd ever seen. They were notoriously hard to defend against the infected, so almost all poultry producers used cages.

One of the ranch hands poked his head in the door and gave a thumbs-up. Karl said, "Ah, looks like your ride is ready. Time for you folks to hit the road."

He led us outside where a truck was waiting. It was a quad cab with a heavy brush cutter on the front, and was hitched to a trailer. The trailer carried three large crates, one with a refrigeration unit on top. The other two had air holes, and I could hear thumping noises coming from inside them.

"Um, what are we delivering?" I asked.

"A couple of critters for the Zombie Farm, a zebra and a Japanese sika deer, and some carcasses to feed them."

"Zombie Farm?"

"I'll explain on the way," Bobbie said.

Karl turned to Bobbie. "Just drop the trailer and head on in to town. They'll handle unloading, and I'll send someone to get it tomorrow."

"Are you sending someone with us to bring the truck back?"

"Thought about it, but you might need it. Since your husband is staying here with his LAV, we can manage without it."

"Thank you."

"No problem. Ah, and here's your disguises."

Big George approached carrying a bundle of leather. It turned out to be three leather coveralls like I had seen Karl's employees wearing. From the texture, I cleverly deduced that it was alligator hide. I put on the one he handed to me, and it wasn't too bad a fit, just a little loose. Bobbie and Shaun followed suit.

I looked up at the sun. "I think this might get a little warm."

"The little box on your left hip is a fan. Circulates air to help keep you cool and creates a positive pressure for a slight bit of extra virus protection. Biohazard quality filter on the intake. Battery is good for ten hours and there's a charging cable in your left pocket."

I turned on the fan and immediately felt a little cooler. "Yeah, that helps."

We made our various goodbyes and got moving. Bobbie drove, I sat in the back seat, and Shaun rode shotgun. Literally in this case, there was one racked next to his left knee. Between that, the two rifles in the window behind my head, and our handguns, we left the rest of our weapons behind when we stopped at the bunkhouse to get our luggage. I hadn't seen any of Karl's people toting crossbows, so Shaun would have to do without. A couple of miles from the house we passed through an automated entry station equipped with scanners, high-end blood test units, full decon setup, and enough active defenses that I certainly wouldn't want to try to get through it if I wasn't welcome. We turned right onto another road, crumbling but well-traveled.

"So, Zombie Farm?"

"A tourist trap over on 281. They have a collection of unusual infected animals for people to gawk at."

"Sounds dangerous."

"They haven't lost a visitor yet. But if you prefer something safer, the same folks operate the Snake Farm on Interstate 35." She paused for a moment. "Is it sad that a place that prominently displays the ten most poisonous snakes in the world is the safer alternative?"

"Sad, but true."

"Anyway, the Snake Farm has been there for about 75 years. Local legend has it that back in the day it was a front for a brothel."

"What?" Shaun said.

"The story goes that if you asked the cashier for change for a twenty, you'd be taken to a trailer out back where the 'ladies' were waiting. Rob once did some research looking for proof and says it probably isn't true, but the rumor persists."

"Uh huh. On another subject, I didn't know zebras were native to Texas."

Bobbie laughed. "There used to be a couple of exotic wildlife ranches around here. Some of the animals managed to hang on even after the tourists stopped coming by to hand feed them. About five miles from Karl's place there are even some giraffes."

That gave us something to think about for a while. Shaun was eagerly scanning the landscape around us as though expecting to see a zombie giraffe looming over the trees. After a while the road twice crossed a winding dry creek. The culverts underneath the road were mostly blocked and the pavement itself was under a good foot of loose rock. Dead brush and even whole trees piled against the sagging fences nearby showed just how high the flood waters could get. I made a mental note to never drive through here in a thunder storm.

About half an hour after leaving the ranch, we came to an intersection with a maintained highway. To our immediate left was a small building with a billboard in front proclaiming it to be the Zombie Farm. To the rear was a high cinder block wall topped with razor wire. Bobbie pulled in and parked to the side of the building.

"Can y'all unhook the trailer while I let them know we're here?"

"Sure," I said, and Bobbie went inside while Shaun and I went to the rear of the truck.

It was the first time we'd been alone all day, so I took the opportunity to ask Shaun, "How are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Butt's still a little sore, but I've had worse aches after a day in the field. _She's_ keeping quiet."

"Do you think it's permanent?"

"Doubt it. Probably just lulling me into a false sense of security."

I tried to smother a grin. Shaun had already picked up Karl's habit of dropping pronouns. I wondered if the accent would follow.

"What's so funny?"

"Startin' to talk lahk a native."

Shaun thought for a moment and laughed. "Wouldn't want... _I_ wouldn't want that, _it_ might damage my cosmopolitan image."

Around the time we got the trailer unhitched, Bobbie returned and said, "We've been offered a free tour."

"I'd rather not."

"Yeah, it's no fun if they're in cages."

"Then with unanimous consent, let's get back on the road."

We climbed back into the truck and were once again headed south on 281. Out of curiosity I called up a map. We were barely eighty miles from where we had left this same highway the day before. It had taken us more than sixteen hours to cover a distance that should have taken a little over one. I regretted the delay, but without it we might not still be moving at all.

For the first five miles or so, we drove past the burned ruins of small businesses. Then gated shopping centers started to appear alongside the road, and high-end residential communities covered the hills to either side. A few minutes later we came to a checkpoint blocking the road, just short of a major highway interchange. There were a surprising number of cars waiting, being processed through four gates.

Bobbie picked the lane being manned by a particularly handsome police officer, muttering "I hope he's not gay." When we stopped at the back of the line, she unzipped her coverall to her waist and opened a few buttons on her blouse.

When we got to the front, the officer handed in three test kits and said, "I haven't seen you before. Is Karl keeping you close to home?"

"The boss rotates the job to give everyone a chance to get into town. Guess I just never lined up with your shift on the gate," Bobbie said, shrugging her shoulders. I couldn't see what effect that had on her chest, but the cop definitely noticed. "I'm sure I would have remembered."

"I know I would have," he said with a smile, accepting back the kits, noting that they all showed green, and sealing them in biohazard bags. "Hope to see you come to town again."

"Me too," Bobbie said, touching the back of his hand where it rested on the edge of the window.

He smiled even more broadly before, then turned away to open the gate.

Once we were on our way, Shaun asked, "Wouldn't an uglier cop have been even more distracted?"

"Or more suspicious," I said. "Someone who looks that good expects to be flirted with. Someone who looks like, oh, you for example, might wonder why he's suddenly getting that kind of attention."

"Good point."

Bobbie laughed. "I'd take Shaun over that guy any day."

"I would too, but that doesn't make me blind."

"Maybe if you start wearing shades 24/7 again, I'll look better."

"I dunno, it might take a blindfold."

Eventually my brother and I stopped trading insults, and Bobbie asked, "George? Could you check the TZR website? Karl is a premium subscriber and some of his people check the site daily, so it shouldn't raise any flags."

There was a touch screen in the back of Shaun's seat, so I turned it on and entered the web address. It was already logged in, and the site prominently displayed a flashing red "Breaking News" link. I tapped it, and a video popped up showing a woman about my age with long blonde hair, sitting in what looked like a living room. The video started playing:

_This morning US marshals served a warrant at the home of this site's founder, Robert Philips, seeking computer files pursuant to investigating baseless allegations made against Rob by the government of Mexico. Subscriber lists and visitor logs were not covered under the warrant and were not accessed by investigators. Rob Philips and his wife are currently on vacation and not available for comment. Please check back for further updates._

"I was expecting something like that," Bobbie said.

"Same here. Not the most, um, professional report I've seen."

"I know that voice, it's Rob's sister. She must have blown the dust off of her journalist credentials. Makes sense, under Plan B she would have been the only one at home with enough access to post a report."

"Is she one of your betas?"

"No, she has access because she occasionally posts accounts of her cases. She has her own business as a zombie tracker."

"A what?"

Shaun said, "Ah, I've heard about that. A family member ends up as part of a zombie pack, you can hire a tracker to get them and bring them back for cremation and burial. In Texas, anyway. It's not a valid profession in any other state, but a few are considering it."

"Yep, that's it. We tried to do a webcast reality show about Jenny and her crew, but few of her clients would allow it."

I browsed through the TZR website, checking the forums. They were out of control, I couldn't see any moderator activity trying to keep a lid on things. I couldn't stand to watch, so I dug deeper into the archives. I snorted. If anything, Rob's fangirls were even more rabid than Shaun's. I had to wonder if that might be because in Rob's case a few of them got lucky, helping spur on the rest. I went back to the main forum page, and there was a flashing alert icon on the admin forum. I clicked on it and was taken to a thread barely five minutes old that already had over a dozen posts, and more were added while I watched.

"Bobbie, a bunch of your bloggers are reporting being interrogated by the police and by Federal marshals, and claim that they are under surveillance."

"How many?"

I took a quick count. "Up to twenty now."

"Damn. That's everyone, except for Claudia and a couple of Irwin/Newsie teams out in the field."

Shaun said, "I wonder why there's no mention of us?"

"It's obvious. Whoever is behind this wants us to stay free but cut off from help so they can get to us themselves."

The banner at the top of the web page suddenly changed from an ad to another "Breaking News" message. I clicked it and was taken to a one paragraph story. "Now there are Federal arrest warrants out for Rob and Anna."

"I'm not surprised. Whoever is after you two has to be getting desperate since you dropped off the face of the earth. Well, even if they check the ranch, there are thousands of acres to hide out in. Plus the Sheriff up there is a good friend of Karl's and doesn't much like the Feds, so they won't get a whole lot of cooperation."

I kept scanning the website, and when nothing new turned up I checked other local news blogs and the sites of more traditional news outlets. The blogs slanted heavily in support of Rob but had no new information, while the TV and newspaper sites barely covered the story at all. Several bloggers reported a rumor that Shaun and I had recently been spotted in Sacramento. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice we had exited the highway until we stopped in front of a gate. Raised letters projecting from the stone wall to the left proclaimed this to be the Texas Biomedical Research Institute.

A guard approached Bobbie's side of the truck as she lowered the window. He looked in and said, "Is there something I can do for you folks."

I took a deep breath. If we weren't safe here, we were fucked. "We're Georgia and Shaun Mason. You should be expecting us."

"Yes, we have been expecting people by those names. Do you have any references?"

"Dr. Danika Kimberly, Dr. Shannon Abbey, and Garcia Pharmaceuticals."

Shaun added, "We were told to ask for a Dr. Andrew Carrion."

"And who are you?" he asked, looking at Bobbie.

"I'm their personal security."

"You look nothing like a bodyguard," he said, giving Bobbie a thumbs-up. "Excellent tradecraft. Go ahead and pull up to the inner gate while I kick this upstairs."

The outer gate slid open, allowing Bobbie to drive in before slamming shut behind us. We were trapped. The gates looked sturdy enough to stop a tank. Three ranks of flame nozzles protruded from the walls to either side. If the guards took a sudden disliking to us, we'd be incinerated in seconds. A small remote-controlled drone flew over to the driver-side window, carrying three devices that looked like wrist-sized blood pressure cuffs. It took me a moment to recognize them, because I hadn't ever seen one up close. They were wearable monitors that continually tracked viral levels. These were so expensive that so far as I knew even the CDC only used them on high-risk subjects. Bobbie handed them around and we each put one on. As it adjusted to the size of my wrist I barely felt the prickle of needles entering my skin. A moment later the light went green, and a quick glance at Bobbie and Shaun showed that they had gotten the same result.

At that point the inner gate opened and another guard waved us through, motioning us to stop when we drew alongside him. "Okay, you people check out. Take the first right, then you want the second building on the left."

Bobbie thanked him and we started moving again while Shaun looked around in awe. "I haven't seen this level of security anywhere, not even at the White House."

"The White House doesn't have hundreds of huge, infectable mammals wandering around the Rose Garden," I said, pointing to a domed enclosure where large numbers of apes or monkeys could be seen playing, climbing, or just lounging around. Nearby, small buildings could be seen with adjoining cages, each containing a single simian occupant. "They have to be seriously worried about outbreaks. Plus, doing primate research would make them a major target for both animal rights activists and animal extermination fanatics."

We parked in front of the building to which we were directed and got out. As we approached the main door, a screen next to it lit up. It showed yellow wire-frame outlines of each of us, which turned to green as we got closer. The door slid aside and we passed through it into an entryway where we were met by an older, heavyset, graying man in a lab coat.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Carrion. If you'd like to accompany me to my office, we can sit down and talk."

"Any chance we get some food on the way?" Shaun asked. He had a point, it was already a bit past noon.

"I can have something sent over from the cafeteria."

"That would be great, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all. About half my colleagues have so much trouble tearing themselves away from their work that they'd starve to death if they couldn't get meals delivered."

Dr. Carrion showed us to a moderately cluttered office. Only one of the four visitor chairs was piled with professional journals, so we didn't have to clear any off to sit down. We completed introductions while making lunch orders.

Dr. Carrion looked a bit uncomfortable after Bobbie introduced herself. "Mrs. Philips, I enjoy your writing and God knows I've had to deal with enough archived video to appreciate your technical skills, but I'm not sure it's appropriate for you to be here."

I broke in before Bobbie could speak. "Look, my brother and I regularly get death threats. We've been shot at by snipers, betrayed by friends and family, and I've already been killed once. There's a woman in the hospital recovering from gunshot wounds because she was mistaken for us. Bobbie is the only person within a thousand miles who we can trust that is free to be here. If she is willing to stick around, we want her to be involved."

"Okay, fair enough. There is one more thing that needs to be settled first, however."

"And what would that be?"

"This is not a treatment facility. We don't normally handle individual cases. In order to justify the expenditure of resources, we need to be doing something that has a broader application."

"I assume you have something in mind."

"Miss Mason, your unique situation is directly applicable to research we are currently conducting. As you are more intelligent than our usual test subjects, you can provide a perspective that we cannot get through any other ethical means. If you will agree to a battery of interviews along with cognitive and behavioral tests, my professional posterior will be covered. And at least some of what we learn from you will help your brother."

"Okay, I agree to your tests."

"Thank you. In anticipation of your arrival, my department has prepared a preliminary course of investigation. For the first few days, we intend to administer an array of standardized tests that you would have taken in school." He opened a folder and handed me and Shaun stacks of forms. "We would like you to release your educational, licensing, and medical records to us for the purposes of comparison. Also included are releases for the proposed methods of study."

He waited with remarkable patience as we carefully read each form before signing it. He made no effort to hurry us even when our lunches arrived and usurped some of our attention.

Shaun, looking up from one form, asked, "What's this fifteen syllable drug you want to use on me?"

"It's a mild psychoactive drug used in the treatment of patients with Dissociative Identity Disorder. It allows a therapist to bring different personalities to the surface and induces a generally calm and cooperative state."

"I don't think that would help. Except for sometimes when I'm asleep, all she can do is talk inside my head."

Dr. Carrion suddenly looked interested. "This is the first I've heard that she can do anything other than 'talk inside your head.' If she can come to the forefront under any circumstances, then that drug should bring her out. What does she do when she's in control?"

Shaun and I described in detail the times she tried to kill me and the way she betrayed us to our enemies, ending with "So you can see why we aren't happy about deliberately giving her control."

"I can understand that, but it will be necessary. We can't even begin to formulate a course of treatment until we know more."

"So you don't even have an idea how you are going to fix this," Shaun said, tapping the side of his head.

"With DID sufferers, talk therapy has proven most effective. Until the approval of this new medication, the hardest part has been convincing alters to surface so that the therapist can talk to them. But you are a unique case, even leaving aside the fact that your condition is artificially induced. Despite what popular culture would have you believe, there have been no rigorously documented cases of 'evil' alternate personalities. Alters normally try to act as something of a team, with each one fulfilling a function in support of the whole."

"So why do they need to be cured?"

"Some have adapted well enough that they don't. But others find the condition so disrupting to their daily lives that they seek treatment. Therapy can help them reintegrate, or at least teach the alters methods of communicating among themselves."

"There's already too much communication, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to integrate with her."

"Which is why we don't yet know how we are going to treat you, or even if we can."

Shaun looked down at his feet. "So how do we start?"

"First off, I'm afraid we need to keep the two of you apart for at least the initial stages of study."

Shaun looked up again, glaring at Dr. Carrion. I grabbed his hand before he could speak and asked, "Can you tell us why?"

"The primary reason is your safety, Ms. Mason. You've said that the entity in your brother's head is actively hostile towards you. The procedures we'll need to use may very well leave her more able to act, which could put you in danger."

"A primary reason implies one or more secondary reasons."

"Yes. We cannot compel her cooperation, but merely encourage it. I strongly suspect that your presence will make her harder to work with, and that will delay any possibility of finding a solution."

"Then the sooner we can get started, the better."

"I agree," said Dr. Carrion. "I can free up a couple of my people to proctor some preliminary tests this afternoon. While I set that up, someone from security can show you to your quarters. Sorry, but I've only been assigned two rooms."

"I think we can manage," I said.

Dr. Carrion summoned a guard who escorted us out to the truck to get our bags, then let me and Bobbie into a room in a nearby building. He led Shaun down the hall and around a corner. I told myself that it would only be for a few days, and entered the room. It didn't look very welcoming. The walls were an institutional beige, while the floor was linoleum in nearly the same shade. There were two plain chairs, a table, and a single bed with a nightstand. On the other hand, it was different from the cold, sterile room I'd awakened in after my rebirth. It looked as if someone might actually live here once in a while, none of the furniture was bolted down, it had its own bathroom, and there were no obvious means for people to spy on us.

Bobbie said, "Reminds me of my first apartment."

"Yeah, it looks like some of the places Shaun and checked into renting back when we were about 20. We gave up and decided to stick it out with the Masons until we could afford better."

"You were lucky to have that option. I moved out at 16 and never looked back."

I grimaced at the reminder that while Mom and Dad had their faults, there were worse parents out there. I shrugged it off and changed clothes, glad to get out of the leather coverall Karl had loaned me. While it had turned out to be cooler than I expected, it still wasn't very comfortable. Bobbie changed as well, then we sat and waited about twenty minutes before there was a knock at the door. The delay was additional evidence that we might not be under surveillance. I answered the door to find the same guard waiting for me. He led me to an office that was a near-twin of Dr. Carrion's, but much less lived in.

An older man seated behind the desk stood up as I entered. "Hello Miss Mason, it's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well, Dr...?"

"Just call me Eric. I'm not high enough up the totem pole around here to rate a title or last name. Us soft science guys play second fiddle to the biomedical types."

"In that case, call me George." I started to take a seat.

"Please, take my chair. It'll be easier for you to use the computer."

He stood out of the way and I moved past him to sit down. He continued, "I presume that at some point you've taken the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inquiry?"

"Yes. Three times, in fact."

"Good. It's queued up and ready to go. I'll leave you to it."

Eric left the room and I turned to the computer. The MMPI was interesting the first time I took it, but got progressively more tedious each time after that. I worked my way through it, trying not to think about how my answers might be different from before. Less than a minute after I finished, Eric returned.

"Gee, great timing."

"The system pinged me when you finished. If you're up for it, I think we can fit in one more series of tests this afternoon."

"Okay, I can do that."

Eric leaned over the desk, taking the mouse and rapidly clicking through icons. "There you go."

"Implicit Association Test? You're aware that was debunked five years ago, right?"

"George, I knew the IAT was flawed about ten years before you were born, when it told me I was prejudiced against white people."

I looked up at him. He was one of the palest men I'd seen in a while. Considering that I'd been living in Canada, that was saying something. "How did _that_ happen?"

"Well, let me give you an example. At one point an image of gun appears. The test assumes that I'll see it as a negative association, representing crime and violence. As a white guy, and therefore considered to be automatically racist, I am expected to associate guns with black people."

I nodded.

"The problem is that I'm a Texan, a country boy, and an Air Force veteran. To me, guns represent putting food on the table and defending myself, my loved ones, and my country. While at the time, the vast majority of African-Americans subscribed to a political ideology that supported draconian gun control and were sadly under-represented, though not entirely absent, at my local shooting range. So I saw guns as a positive thing and subconsciously associated them with white people."

"Wow. That's the clearest explanation I've ever heard for what is wrong with the IAT."

"If you look up the article that called the test's methodology into question, you'll find my name listed as one of the contributors."

"Then why?" I said, gesturing at the computer screen.

"Because it was required for all sophomores in California during the years you attended high school, so I assumed you'd taken it."

I nodded again. I was never told what the results were, but everyone in my class was required to attend counseling afterward. The counseling session wasn't any more revealing.

"Then it should be in your school records, and the inherent biases won't matter when we're comparing your responses from then to now."

"That makes sense."

"Then I'll leave you to it. Feel free to take a break between series. Is there anything I can get you?"

"A Coke would be great. And directions to the bathroom."

"I'll rustle one up for you, and right across the hall."

I decided to make a visit across the hall first, and by the time I returned my drink was waiting. After a couple of swallows, I was ready to start. It was a grueling, fast-paced process, and I needed to rest between sessions. Eventually I finished, and Eric returned and offered to walk me back to my room. The sun was setting on what felt like the longest day I'd had in months. Eric and I exchanged goodnights, and I went inside to find Bobbie waiting for me.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," I replied.

"Good thing I snagged you something from the cafeteria before it closed. I also talked them into bringing us a microwave and a fridge."

While my dinner was heating up, I checked the refrigerator and found it stocked with Coke and water. While eating, I told Bobbie how my afternoon had gone, and she described the tour she'd gotten of the primate pens. Once those topics were exhausted, we talked about inconsequential things until I started yawning and Bobbie suggested going to sleep.

I stood up and stripped down to my t-shirt, bra, and panties. "Say, can you teach me that trick with the bra?"

"Sure," she said.

After a little coaching, I successfully removed my bra without taking my shirt off first. Then we stood there looking at the bed.

Bobbie said, "If I get on my side with my back to the wall, that should leave room for you."

"You couldn't talk them out of another bed?"

"They insisted there weren't any available."

"Yeah, you just wanted an excuse to finally get me in the sack."

"Maybe," Bobbie said with a grin. "Or maybe they just want to watch."

"Are they watching?"

"I found one camera, but my induction meter showed there wasn't any power going to it. I put a piece of tape over it just in case."

"Good girl," I said, trying to mimic Rob's voice.

"If you're going to be like that, then I definitely want to get you into bed."

"Then let's do it."

Bobbie slid under the covers, leaving as much room for me as possible. I got in beside her, trying to lie on my back at first. My arm kept falling over the edge, so I turned on my side with my back to her. It was certainly different from being cuddled up to Shaun, but not bad. It was comforting without being a turn-on. I heard Bobbie's breathing settle into the regular pattern of sleep and tried to follow her into unconsciousness. Her hand slipped to my hip, then slid up over my shirt to cup my breast. I thought about waking her up but she would have been embarrassed, and as long as she didn't get any more aggressive in her sleep there was no point. It wasn't distracting enough to keep me awake for long.

I was awakened by a hissing sound. The door opened, and two men carrying guns and wearing respirators entered. Bobbie shoved me off the bed and onto the floor while reaching for her revolver on the nightstand. She knocked it onto the floor and collapsed limply on top of me. The gun was two feet in front of my face, but I couldn't seem to move my arms to reach for it. After a few seconds the world went dark again.

* * *

_From: AndCar txbiomed  
To: DirSec txbiomed  
Wednesday, June 30th, 2042_

_I expect you to find out who is responsible and deliver their ass to me. On a platter. Medium rare. If you can't accomplish that, then your resignation will be an insufficient but necessary substitute. _

_From: AndCar txbiomed  
To: DirNeuro txbiomed  
Wednesday, June 30th, 2042_

_I strongly protest the decision to keep Mr. Mason ignorant of the kidnapping of his sister and her companion. He has a right to know. Damn it, basic human decency is more important than research. Besides, without her, he is of limited benefit as a research subject. _


	7. Chapter 7

**A Little Bit Pregnant**

I woke up feeling muzzy, not like me at all. Even after a night of drinking, I'm normally fully alert even before my eyes open. It's a survival trait. This morning I barely had the coordination to sit up. It must have been the drugs they gave me.

The previous afternoon was weird. It was like being just a spectator in my own head, hearing Georgia's speech patterns coming out of my mouth. Either that drug was more effective at eliciting cooperation than the good Doctor had led me to believe, or Georgia had her own reasons for going along with the program. Either way, she still wasn't speaking to me directly. I almost missed her. It didn't help that the last sixteen hours were the longest I'd been separated from George since I had found her again.

I managed to find the energy to stumble to the shower. That left me alert enough to get dressed and make my way to the cafeteria. I selected breakfast pretty much at random, then added two cups of coffee to my tray. Looking around the room, I spotted a table of security people and opted to join them. They seemed oddly hesitant to talk to me at first, but opened up a little when I showed genuine interest in their work. I was curious about how they avoided outbreaks in the big ape pens. It turns out that each of the monkeys has a viral monitor attached to a collar around their necks, equipped with a small explosive charge that severs the spine upon reading a positive result.

I finished eating and made my way to the small office that I'd spent so much time in the day before. Dr. Hebert was already there and greeted me as I entered.

"Oh, um, good morning, Shaun." He seemed to have trouble meeting my eyes. I was starting to wonder if I had sprouted a second head or something.

"Morning."

"Um, we should be getting your records in as soon as some people in California wake up. Until then, I would like to ask you some questions about your experiences with the other person in your head." He called up a file on his tablet and set an MP3 recorder on the desk between us.

"I'd rather not talk about it, but I guess I have to."

"Well, let's get started."

He became more comfortable as we talked. The interview had the opposite effect on me. I had never gone into that much detail with anyone before, not even my sister. A couple of hours had gone by and I was just describing the last time Georgia had tried to kill George when I heard a commotion outside.

"Sir! You can't go in there!"

The door opened and Rob entered, dressed in full field gear. Dr. Hebert stood up and demanded, "What is the meaning...?"

Rob interrupted, saying "Sit down and shut up" in a tone of voice I'm not entirely sure a zombie wouldn't have obeyed. Dr. Hebert certainly did. Rob looked at me. "Shaun, I'm going to bet no one has bothered to tell you that Bobbie and George have been kidnapped."

It was my turn to stand up angrily. "What the hell?"

"Didn't think so. All anyone knows for sure is that they aren't on the grounds and that one scientist and two guards are also missing."

"We need to get out of here."

"Just what I had in mind."

Rob led the way out of the building. He had just stepped outside when I heard gunshots and saw him stagger. He turned to the left, flinging an arm up over his face, and I saw bullets impacting on his chest. At a pause in the shots, I rushed outside and saw a guard in the midst of reloading. He was just hitting the slide release when I grabbed his wrist and slammed his arm against the wall, catching the gun when he released it. Two more guards approached at a run, drawing their handguns on the way.

"Stand down, dammit!"

I looked to the right. Dr. Carrion was walking towards us, looking distinctly unhappy.

"You two, back to your posts, I'll handle this. You," he said, pointing at the guard in front of me, "Go wait in the security office. Don't worry about the gun, you'd just have to turn it in anyway."

I let the guard go, turning towards Dr. Carrion. I held the gun at my side even though I really wanted to point it at him.

"Shaun, I am so sorry. They revoked my access to the building and gave orders to the switchboard to keep me from telling you. I've been trying to find someone willing to take you a message."

I let out a breath, hit the magazine release and worked the slide to eject the round from the chamber, then handed Dr. Carrion the empty gun. "I appreciate your help, but I am checking out now."

"I think it would be better to let the police handle this."

"Dr. Abbey said I could redeem a favor you owe her. Something about Hawaii?"

He sighed. "If Shannon is willing to call in that marker, she must think you're pretty special. Give me your arm."

I complied. He slapped a drug patch on my arm and handed me a bottle. "There. That will clear any drug residue out of your system, and the aspirin will help with the headache you're about to have. Go. I'll make sure you get cleared through the gate."

"Thanks."

I followed Rob around the corner of the building, swallowing half a dozen aspirin on the way. He was gritting his teeth together and had his left arm pressed tightly against his side. I didn't see any blood so I figured it would keep for a while. The truck we arrived in came into view, and parked next to it was an identical truck with Anna riding shotgun and a woman I didn't recognize driving. Rob waved at them and they pulled out, stopped next to us long enough for Anna to hand Rob a set of keys, and headed towards the main gate.

He gave me the keys and said, "I think you're going to have to drive."

I got into the driver seat and started it up. Rob was clearly in pain as he climbed in the passenger side. I drove towards the exit. The inner gate was already open, and closed as soon as I drove into the kill zone. The flying remote was waiting, so Rob and I unstrapped the monitor cuffs and I placed them on the drone. The outer gate opened and I stepped on the gas. The guard watched us drive past with his hand on the butt of his gun and an angry expression on his face, but he made no move to stop us. The other truck was waiting and I followed it onto the highway.

"Rob, are you okay?"

"No, but I'll live. Probably. Trauma plate caught all but the first three rounds. Those didn't get through the Kevlar, but they hurt like hell."

I refrained from offering him some of my aspirin, because it would increase the risks from internal bleeding. "What happened to George and Bobbie?"

"They disappeared sometime overnight. Whoever was responsible buggered the cameras so no one knows exactly how it happened, but the missing personnel left around 2:30."

"Any clues at all?"

"Someone claiming to be the kidnapper emailed me this morning. He says he'll trade Bobbie for you."

"Sounds like a fair deal to me."

Rob snorted. "Not going to happen, even if I trusted him to follow through."

He pulled out his pocket computer and unfolded it on his lap before typing furiously. After five minutes he put it away, saying, "There, that should buy us some time. At least half a dozen media outlets will soon be reporting that I was shot and injured at Texas Biomed. They can't expect me to deliver you without getting some medical attention first."

"How did you get to me?"

"Sarah smuggled us in past the city perimeter and told the guards at Texas Biomed that we were there to pick up the truck. She went to talk them into giving her the keys while I looked for you."

We rode in silence for a few more miles. We had just passed an interchange when I saw flashing lights in the rear-view mirror. "Damn, we have cops on our tail."

A light went on next to the radio and Anna's voice came over the speakers. "Rob, take the next exit. We'll run interference."

"Anna..."

"Do it. You need to stay free to rescue Bobbie."

"Okay."

The other truck moved one lane to the left and dropped back behind us. The next off ramp was a long one, with k-rails to either side. I drove down it with Anna and Sarah following and the cops close behind them. They slowed down and stopped near the end of the ramp, turning to the side so that the patrol cars couldn't go around them. Rob directed me to take the turnaround and then guided me down a series of residential streets. During one stretch without turns, he used the truck's console to make a call.

"Karl? Sarah and Anna have been nabbed by the police. Could you get hold of my sister and have her get our lawyer involved? Also, ask her if she can get Dan to meet me at your place. Okay, thanks."

A few more turns and we were on highway 281 headed out of town. "Are we going to have trouble getting out through the perimeter?"

"Outbound gates are automated. There are quite a few wealthy folks that have fortified estates out this way, and they don't like delays on their trip home. Jenny claims to have blown through the gate at 120 without a problem."

A few minutes later I saw what he meant. The first gate was open, but as soon as we drove past it slammed shut behind us. I was amazed to see in the mirror that the gate followed us, sliding on tracks. The second gate tilted upwards as we approached, then passed overhead as more tracks carried it back behind us. I was impressed, the system ensured that no infected could get in, without needing sensors or active defenses. About ten minutes later I turned right at the Zombie Farm and headed down the narrow abandoned road. We had just passed the first creek crossing when an SUV with police markings pulled out of the brush and blocked the road.

"Go ahead and stop, Shaun. Don't give them cause to arrest you too."

I stopped a few car lengths away. A solidly-built police officer got out of the SUV and walked up to the passenger side. Rob lowered the window and said, "Sergeant Fellers, aren't you a little outside your jurisdiction?"

"Nope. The creek is the county line, so this little stretch of road is in my territory."

"Still, it's a long way from your usual haunts."

"I figured you'd come this way, so I requested roadblock duty out here."

"Looks like you were right."

"Nope, I haven't seen hide nor hair of you, so clearly I was wrong. Maybe the guys outside Karl Traugott's main gate will have better luck. Say 'hi' to your sister for me."

With that, he got back in his SUV and pulled off the road. I put the truck in gear and started moving, crossing the second creek bridge and continuing on towards the ranch.

As we approached an intersection, Rob said, "Take a left. If they're watching the main gate, we'll have to try to sneak in on the west side."

I made the turn, and then turned off the road where Rob directed. We drove past the ruins of what had been a large house, then through a gate that opened automatically as the truck approached. A few minutes later I saw a flock of ostriches and realized we were back on the ranch. Rob had to activate the GPS on the truck's console to guide us to the main house, and even then we made some false turns. There were pairs of ruts crisscrossing the landscape, signs of frequent and aggressive sweeps for zombies. Finally, we reached our destination. I parked next to a car I hadn't seen here before. It resembled the ancient El Caminos some of the old hippies back in Berkeley had, but it didn't look like it could be more than a few years old.

As we got out of the truck, a young woman about my age came running towards us from the house. She was a little shorter than me, slender, and had a long blonde braid hanging down her back, almost to her butt. She could have been a model, but the muscle definition in her bare arms suggested she regularly lifted things heavier than celery sticks.

She tried to hug Rob, but he fended her off with his right arm. "Whoa, not a good idea right now."

I said, "Has anyone ever told you that you have way more than your fair share of beautiful women?"

"I know, right?" the woman said, winking at me. "But I'm his sister, Jenny, and I'm available." She gave me a frankly appraising once-over.

My string of 'open mouth, insert foot' moments when dealing with women remained unbroken. "Oh, hi, I'm Shaun Mason."

"Nice to meet you." She turned to Rob. "Okay, what have you done to yourself now?"

"Ran into a trigger-happy guard while I was picking up Shaun."

She examined the bullet holes in the leather on his chest. "Pretty good grouping there, maybe I should hire him. Anyway, when I got the word to bring Dan out here, I figured you'd gotten yourself hurt. He has his gear set up in the dining room."

"I asked for you to _send_ Dan out here. Who's staying with Mom?"

"She has a couple of FBI agents hanging around outside."

"Ah. By the way, Sergeant Fellers would have told me to say 'hi' to you for him if he had stopped us on the way here, which he didn't."

"I guess he'll finally get that date he's been asking for."

While they talked, we were walking to the house with me bringing up the rear. And speaking of rears... I clamped down on that thought before it went any further. I was the last one into the house, and I followed the sounds of voices through the kitchen and into a formal dining room. It didn't look like it saw much use, and I felt a fresh measure of kinship with folks who would rather eat out on the sunny deck when most people would feel so much safer in the room I had just entered. Rob was removing his jacket with Jenny's help, while a stocky man about Rob's age was rummaging in a paramedic bag. Karl and Marie stood nearby.

Karl was saying, "I have a doctor on staff, he can be here in ten minutes."

"I'm sure your doctor is good," Rob said, "but Dan has more experience with this sort of thing. Besides, I don't think your doctor would care to be imprisoned at Fort Jefferson."

Dan looked up from what he was doing. "What an ego, now he thinks he's John Wilkes Booth."

"I wouldn't go that far, but I am a fugitive."

"I notice you don't care if _I_ get sent to Fort Jefferson."

"You've been saying you needed a long vacation on a nice tropical island."

"True."

Karl chuckled. Jenny and I exchanged 'what the hell are they talking about?' looks. Jenny said, "Why don't we clear out and leave all the old people to their obscure humor?"

I nodded in agreement and we went out onto the deck. We passed a tall, imposing black man headed the other way. After asking if I wanted some, Jenny went to the bar and started a pot of coffee. I settled into a lounge chair and tried to relax.

_Shaun?_

"What?"

Jenny started to say something, but I held up my hand and she fell silent.

_I think I know where George is._

"How?"

Jenny looked at me funny but didn't speak.

_They were right, I was created to spy on you. I was required to memorize a list of locations around the country to steer you towards. One of them is near here. _

"Why should I trust you? You betrayed us."

_They tried to kill you! That wasn't supposed to happen. I can't... _Georgia paused for a moment. _I was going to say that I can't live without you. It might be a cliché, but for me it's literally true. But you can live without me. I'm ready to die if it means you will be happy and safe._

I went to the bar and found a pen and a notepad. "Give me the address." I wrote it down as Georgia recited it, then tore the sheet off and gave it to Jenny. "George and Bobbie may be at this location. Any way you can pull some info on it?"

"Um, sure, Mom is big in real estate and has some contacts in Planning and Zoning. I'll call her."

While she made the call, I went back to join Rob. Dan was apparently finishing up his examination.

"You've got at least one broken rib, and one of those bruises is awfully close to your bad kidney."

"Well, do what you can to keep me functional for a while longer."

"You need to go the hospital. Move around too much and you could send a splinter through your lung. And if that kidney ruptures it will dump live state Kellis-Amberlee into your blood stream."

"I'm immune. I could eat half a cow, raw, and not amplify. Just tape me up or whatever it is you do for the ribs. I don't have time to go to the hospital right now."

"God, you are just like your sister."

"Hey now, there's no need to be insulting."

"I'm not sure which of you I'm insulting more."

As Dan continued working on Rob, I said, "The voice in my head gave me a location where George and Bobbie might have been taken."

Rob looked at me. "Can we trust her?"

"Well, she did point out that the people trying to kill me would be killing her too."

"Fair enough."

The tall man from earlier flipped open an unusually bulky laptop, plugged in a small mouse, and said, "Give me the address."

Georgia repeated it and I passed it on.

When I was done, Rob said, "Shaun Mason, meet George 'Iceman' Garwynn, freelance Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics expert. Just call him Ice."

"It's zoned Commercial," Ice said. "It's owned by a company that has the bare minimum required information publicly available. Satellite view as of eight months ago shows what looks like a warehouse with a few offices and a perimeter fence."

Jenny entered the room as he was talking. "According to Mom's contact at P&Z, it used to be a GSA warehouse selling surplus government property. It was transferred to the CDC, which intended to open a zombie research facility on the site until protests by local residents caused the city to put a halt to the plan. It was then sold to a shell corporation." She paused, listening to her phone. "There is no current occupancy permit, so no way to know what it is now being used for."

Rob grunted as Dan wrapped another layer of tape around his ribs. "Ice, any way you can trace the actual owner?"

"Got a warrant and a forensic accountant in your back pocket? Didn't think so."

"We need to know more."

"Don't you dare ask that, Rob."

"I have to. It's Bobbie."

"Damn it Rob, you don't understand. You're talking about violating my professional ethics. I can't bend them just a little bit and still retain my integrity. It's like being a 'little bit pregnant'."

"Bobbie is, by the way."

"Bobbie is what?"

"Pregnant. About ten weeks."

"Is it mine?"

"Probably not. She was careful to time things so that I would be the father. Still, we don't know for certain."

"Damn you Rob."

"Damn me all you want, but don't condemn Bobbie and her child."

"You know that ceremony you were planning for next week? Better make it a double."

"Hell, Bobbie would like nothing better, but she didn't think you'd go for it."

"Yesterday she would have been right." Ice turned back to his computer and went to work.

Meanwhile, Dan had finished with Rob. "I should immobilize your arm, but I know you won't let me. Just try not to move it more than you absolutely have to. I suppose you want me to go along and patch you up afterward?"

"No. What Shaun and I will be doing is quasi-legal at best. No need for anyone else to get involved."

"I can do something about that," Jenny said. "Hey, Shaun, toss me a quarter." I did so, and she continued, "There, you have now retained Philips Tracking and Recovery to locate one Georgia Mason, determine if she is dead or undead, and if so retrieve the body for interment. You can sign the contract on the way, making this little operation more legal and less quasi. Of course, that means I have to go with you."

"Jenny..."

"Shut up, Rob. You're in no shape to play Lone Ranger on this one, and you need someone along who knows how you think. Squelch your little neuroses for once."

"Okay, you win."

"Damn right."

The conversation subsided, with only the sound of Ice typing to fill the void. After a few minutes, Marie said, "Jenny, why don't you help me in the kitchen? I sense a testosterone-fueled bull session coming up, and that's going to require food."

After they left, I leaned in close to Rob. "You seem a little hesitant about taking Jenny along on this."

"I'm more than a little hesitant about taking anyone I care about into a dangerous situation. You know better than most people how that can turn out."

I had a sudden vision of the bloody interior of our van that night in Sacramento, and I nodded.

"I was years younger and less mature than you were, and I had a lot of trouble dealing with it. I hate the thought of going through that again."

I took a deep breath. "Have you considered that maybe the kidnapper might really trade Bobbie for me?"

"I have, but it doesn't matter. I'm not the type to sacrifice someone else, and I certainly won't do it on a 'maybe'. Besides, George has started to grow on me. She's like the little sister I wish I had."

"I heard that!" yelled Jenny from the kitchen.

"You were supposed to!" Rob shouted back.

That lightened the mood a bit. There was just one thing that still troubled me, and I lowered my voice to keep from being overheard. "So you're sure Jenny will be an asset in the field?"

"Shaun, you and I have the luxury of hunting up a lone zombie to play with. My sister doesn't have the option. She goes out looking for a specific individual and they are usually in the middle of a pack. I wouldn't be surprised if she has more kills than I do, and I've been going out into zombie country for twice as long."

Dan said, "No offense to either of you, I'd rather be out in the wilds with Jenny. And not just because she doesn't look at the infected as something to 'play' with."

"If it makes you feel better," Rob added, "She has an A-15 blogger license, and I signed off on her field certifications."

"And you wouldn't do that for someone who didn't earn it, not even your sister. But why does she have a blogger license?"

"When zombie tracking was first made a licensed profession, it took a while to develop and implement training programs. In the meantime, they accepted military and police experience, Class A journalist credentials, and a few other things as proof of competence."

"That makes sense. Now the most important question: Is she a good cook?"

Rob chuckled. "Not really, but she's a competent helper. Lending a hand in the kitchen gives her a head start on picking out what she wants."

The conversation subsided as Marie and Jenny returned, bearing an impressive array of finger foods. Sure enough, as soon as Jenny's hands were empty she picked up a plate and started filling it while the rest of us were still looking over our options. But soon we were all happily munching away except for Ice, who spoke for the first time in half an hour.

"Tough bugger to find, but I've located their server. They have a serious firewall, but it looks familiar. Yep, I was hired to write a patch for that program last year. Let me check something... No, they haven't installed the patch, so I can get in. Sloppy."

I said, "Wouldn't it be easier to get in if they had put in your patch?"

He glared at me. "Are you suggesting that if someone gave me gobs of money to tighten their security, I would repay them by leaving a big, gaping back door in it? Since you don't know me yet, I'll forgive you for asking."

I figured my best course at this point was to shut up.

He turned back to his computer. "Okay, I'm in. There are a lot of encrypted files, mostly video formats. I could probably unlock them, but it's likely to tip someone off."

"Probably best to wait unless we get a clue that there's something in there we need to know," Rob said.

"Yeah. I've found a building schematic. Karl, do you mind?" Ice gestured at the wall.

"Be my guest."

Ice made a couple of mouse clicks and a section of the wall lit up, revealing it to be a large video screen. A floor plan popped up, showing a small warehouse. It was subdivided into separate storage areas, with an enclosed loading dock at the rear. There were smaller rooms at the front of the building, probably offices.

"What do you make of this?" Another mouse click and the diagram was overlaid with red lines running to every room. "It can't be a sprinkler system, that was on the original plans."

Jenny said, "The lines originate at a high-pressure storage vessel and end at some kind of air vents."

Rob looked over at her.

"What? While Mom was teaching you how to cook, I was with Dad learning how to read architect drawings."

"Maybe it's some kind of self-destruct system?" Rob said. "Nah, nobody does that outside of bad movies. Hmm. Texas Biomed reported to the police that the kidnappers used some kind of knockout gas, maybe they have the whole place rigged."

I broke my vow of silence. "Then we'll need some breathing gear."

Karl said, "Still have some air masks from back when we used to burn carcasses out in the pasture. The smell was awful. They have twenty minute pony bottles."

"Sounds good to me," I said.

"Right. I'll get Big George to make sure the bottles are filled." He got up and left the room.

It occurred to me that, counting the one in my head, there were no less than three people in the immediate area named some variation of George. I wondered if we would cross some kind of 'George Event Horizon' when we got my sister back. My musings were interrupted by Ice throwing another file up on the screen. It was a guard roster and schedule. It showed first names only, which was disappointing. Full names might have let us track down someone off duty for some pointed questions.

Rob looked at me. "Well, Shaun, how do we do this?"

"You're asking me?"

_Do you see anyone else here who has done this sort of thing before?_

Almost echoing Georgia, Rob said, "Everyone who has successfully infiltrated a secure facility and rescued someone being held captive there, raise your hands."

Tentatively, I raised my hand. I was the only one. "I should point out that George was well on her way to rescuing herself when I stumbled across her."

"Good point. We need to save them before they escape on their own, or we'll have to turn in our man cards."

"If I have a man card," Jenny asked, "Does that make me gay?"

That triggered a round of laughter, which gave me a little time to think. "They've got a pretty small perimeter. If that schedule is accurate, I don't think we can get through the fence and into the building between sweeps. We'll need a diversion."

Rob sighed. "I'll be no good to you on foot, so I guess that part is my job. I'm pretty sure I can hold their attention for long enough."

"Are there any cameras?"

"I was just looking for them," Ice said. "If there are, they don't feed to the Web. Ah, here we go."

A video image appeared on the wall. Ice clicked through different camera views. It looked like they had full coverage of the perimeter, one camera showed a van parked in the loading dock, and there were two views of of the broad hallway between the dock and the offices. Then a last image appeared and everyone gasped. It showed Bobbie and George strapped down to a pair of hospital beds with medical restraints. They were both wearing panties and t-shirts, probably what they had slept in, and looked to be unconscious. The video was grainy, but I would recognize George anywhere.

* * *

_I hope that one day I'll be able to say that this trip was worth it. In a small way it has been. Shaun and I have grown even closer, and that is something I shall always treasure whatever happens. But it has come at a cost. Not to us personally, but to people we have grown to care about. A woman we've never met lies gravely wounded in a hospital, and two other people we have come to know on this journey are now wanted fugitives. Yet another faces the loss of her husband, charged with a crime that carries a mandatory death sentence._

_And all because of me and Shaun. Had we just remained quietly in Canada only we would have suffered. But in our quest to ease our own pain, we have spread it tenfold to others. Should we quit and go home? Should we surrender ourselves to the enemy that hunts so that they will stop harming our friends? Or do we carry on and hope that we can find help for Shaun so at least their sacrifices will not have been in vain?_

**From _Expatriate Games, _the blog of Georgia Mason **

**July 29, 2042 (unpublished)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Riding a Raid**

_**Author's Note: **I do not own the rights to the song _

_lyrics used in this chapter or the one that follows,_

_and neither does anyone else. _

_The songs were written during the American Civil _

_War and are firmly within the public domain._

After minute or so, Rob broke the silence. "Okay, we have proof. Do we go to the police?"

"Right. Someone who entered this country illegally with the help of a wanted fugitive insists that the voices in his head told him where his missing fellow illegal immigrant is being held hostage. In support of that, we committed a cybernetic crime and got something that for all most people could tell might be somebody's old bondage porn stash. What part of that is going to convince the police?"

"Good point, Shaun."

_Voices? There's only room for one voice in here, and that's me._

I couldn't help smiling at that. "Okay, any way to spoof the cameras or shut them off?"

Ice looked frustrated. "That building isn't just pre-Rising, it's pre-digital. Everything is on analog circuits. The only reason I can tap the cameras at all is because they're being recorded to a hard drive. Hell, the feeds were probably taped on VHS when the cameras were first installed."

"Could you shut off the power?"

"Not from the inside. I can..." Ice stopped, muttering something about "...fucking slippery slope." "I can hack into the power distribution network and cut them off at the meter."

Jenny was intently peering at the screen. "Can you zoom in on the rear door?" Obediently, the picture enlarged. "I recognize the model number, the same doors Dad got for the house."

"Is that going to be problem?" I asked.

"There are eight rods that slide six inches into the frame to lock it. Keypad on the outside takes a six-digit code."

"That sounds familiar." Ice typed on his laptop some more. "Right, I found the door codes."

Rob said, "The thing is, the keypad goes dead if the power is out. It would take explosives to open it from the outside."

"What about from the inside?"

"Battery backup with enough juice to maybe open it twice, if it's been maintained. There's also a manual release, if they haven't removed the lever."

"So the power has to stay on until we're inside," I said. "Have to hope your diversion is distracting enough to keep them from watching the cameras."

The planning session went on for hours after that, and everyone looked to me to solve the difficult problems. It wasn't that they took my word as gospel, there were frequent discussions and arguments, but they usually ended up agreeing with me. For the first time in months I felt like I was in control of my own destiny, and it was a bit scary. But it also felt right.

At one point, Big George came in to report that three of the respirator masks were in good enough shape to seal properly and six of the air bottles would hold pressure. Karl took a phone call, learning that Sarah had been released without charges, but Anna was still being held in custody. Then Rob's phone rang.

He looked at the screen and stood up. "Dan, I need you to come with me and make doctor-type noises." He hurried out of the room with Dan following.

He returned about ten minutes later. "That was our kidnapper. We convinced him that I'm getting urgent medical attention and can't deliver Shaun until tonight. We're supposed to make the exchange at midnight at Calaveras Lake."

"Where is that?" I asked.

Rob said, "Southeast of town. Nothing out there but the power plant. Not too far from their hideout, and the roads serving the outlying farms give them a choice of routes."

Ice put a map up on the screen, highlighting our location and the other two relevant spots. I looked it over for a moment before speaking. "If we head out after dark, we should be able to get to the hideout before they take Bobbie to make the exchange. _If _they bother to take her."

"The problem is," Rob said, "can we get out of here without attracting official attention?"

Karl looked over at Ice. "Since you're controlling the visuals, can you bring up the feeds from cameras one, seventeen, and twenty-four?"

A flurry of keystrokes and a few mouse-clicks later, three video images appeared on the map. Each one showed a black SUV in the field of view.

Rob sighed. "They've got all three gates covered. Maybe we can distract them somehow."

I suppressed a laugh. If Rob had a weakness, it was that he was too much of a law and order, 'color inside the lines' kind of guy. Sure, he'd bend a law if he thought it was stupid and he wasn't harming anyone, but being a fugitive from justice had him so far outside his comfort zone that he couldn't see the obvious solution. I turned to Karl, catching his eye.

Karl grinned back at me. "Okay, pick a spot."

"I think the southeast corner would be best," I said.

"Right, I'll get Big George and Frannie headed out that way." He got up and left the room.

Rob looked confused. "What was that all about?"

"There's more ways to get through a fence than using the gate."

Rob's face lit up with a look of comprehension, which quickly turned to chagrin. To be fair, he probably would have come up with an effective plan to get us out through a gate. Having accepted my simpler, more devious ploy, he quickly got with the program. "That gets us off the ranch. But are they only watching the gates, or do they have people covering the roads?"

"Depends on whether they believe that you're here or they're just covering any place where you might go to ground. I've seen enough of your reports to know that the latter is a pretty long list, so in that case they've got to be spread thin."

"Let me check on that." Rob started typing on his pocket computer.

Jenny said, "My car won't make it cross country. Guess we'll have to squeeze into the Dilemma."

Dan didn't look happy with that idea. "If anyone gets injured, I'll need room to work."

"Right." Jenny leaned back in her chair. "I know! I'll have Riki meet us on the way in the RV."

"Do you really want to get her involved in this?"

"She can park at one of the truck stops down on the interstate. She won't get within miles of the place unless we need to call her in. I'll get her to bring the quads so we can use them to sneak up to the back of the building."

"I guess that will do."

I sat there wondering who Ricky was, but figured I'd find out later. Jenny stepped out to make a phone call, and Karl returned to report that his people where on their way to open a hole in the fence for us.

Rob looked up from his computer. "Seems like just about everyone in the area who has ever appeared in one of my reports says they've been questioned by the feds and are currently under surveillance."

"That still leaves the San Antonio police to worry about," I said.

"We can circle around and avoid crossing the county line until we have to. There's enough back roads on that side of the city that maybe we can slip in."

Jenny had returned by then and I asked her, "Think you can get your friend the cop to help us pick a route?"

"Maybe, but I'll owe him more than just a date for that kind of favor."

I grimaced at that. Jenny reached out and patted my hand, grinning. "Getting a little jealous?"

"No, it's just..."

"Ah, don't worry about it. One night with Sergeant Fellers is no hardship. I'd been planning on it anyway, just wanted to make him chase me a while longer."

With all the major issues settled, it was time to plan the minute details. That consumed most of the remaining daylight. Eventually we were just rehashing things and Rob went to go help Marie cook. I headed up to the bunkhouse to retrieve my gear and go over it. I got back just as dinner was served, and we all ate out on the patio. We finished as the sun was setting, so it was time to move out.

We changed into field gear and gathered outside where Rob's LAV was parked under a massive oak tree. Since we where going up against people who might shoot back, I was wearing Kevlar. Rob had gotten back into his alligator jacket with my help, while Jenny and Dan were wearing smooth-textured gray outfits that almost disappeared in the twilight gloom. Only Ice was still dressed in street clothes.

Jenny walked up to him. "When we meet up with Riki, you could borrow Gil's armor. It might be a little loose on you, though."

Looking at Ice's impressive physique, I made a vow to never get this Gil person mad at me, if I ever met him.

"No thanks, I plan on staying behind steel." Ice rapped on the hull of the Dilemma.

Karl carried over the air masks and bottles. "Good luck."

I grinned. "Just be sure to set a couple of extra places for breakfast."

"Ah, the ineffable optimism of youth."

"Nothing is ineffable when humans are involved. We can be guaranteed to eff up anything."

There were a few moments of stunned silence at that, then Rob, Karl, and Dan broke into applause while everyone else groaned.

And on that note we all piled into the LAV, with Ice claiming the computer chair. No one was inclined to argue with him, so the rest of us sat on the cot with Jenny in the middle. Ice hooked his laptop up to Rob's computer, immediately typing on the keyboard and frowning.

"Dammit Rob, don't you ever defrag this thing? Working through your system is like swimming in molasses."

"Sorry, Ice. I have us looking like one of Karl's trucks right now, in case they have a drone watching the house. That takes all the processing power I have, plus any more that it can grab."

"Ah, that explains why it keeps trying to seize control of my laptop."

We started moving, and after just a few minutes the ride got bumpy. Jenny almost tumbled off of the cot, and when I tried to help her I discovered her jacket was so smooth it was almost impossible to get a grip. That suggested she had a habit of getting up close and personal with zombies. If I had trouble grabbing her, they wouldn't stand a chance.

We skirted the edge of the alligator pond and moved onto smoother terrain. Soon, we arrived at the spot where a couple of Karl's people had peeled back a section of fence and we drove through. As soon as we were on the road they started repairing the hole behind us. Dan leaned back and took a nap, while Ice continued muttering obscenities at his computer. I passed the time trying to make conversation with Jenny.

"So, what's it like being a zombie tracker?"

"It's a lot different from what you guys do. Y'all are all about making a big splash, we're more into speed and stealth. We try to sneak in, get our target, and slip away unnoticed."

"How often does that work?"

"The next time will be the first. But we usually manage to get into the right area and set up our base without any problems. It's when we go out actively searching that we find trouble."

"It sounds like a fascinating career."

She placed a hand on my knee. "Looking for a new job, maybe? I have an opening for an ex-Irwin. I can offer some great fringe benefits."

Dan said, "Funny how I never got in on that benefits package."

"Sorry, you remind me too much of my brother. Besides, I understand you find plenty of 'dates' on Backpage."

"God no. I go to a reputable house of ill-repute."

"See, that's just what I mean. Rob would have phrased it the same way."

"That's because he has a sense of humor. You kids born since the Rising are so damned serious all the time."

Dan lapsed back into silence, and I prodded Jenny to tell me about some of her more interesting case. I repaid her with tales about my funnier adventures in poking zombies with sticks. In the meantime, we made several turns onto increasingly bad roads, when suddenly the ride abruptly smoothed out. I looked out through one of the vision blocks and saw a high, well-maintained fence bordering the road. The road itself looked recently resurfaced.

"Who maintains a road way out here?"

Rob answered, "A cement company. They have a huge limestone quarry here. It's always been San Antonio's main heavy industry, the more so for the last couple of decades."

That made sense. After the Rising, people felt a lot less secure in wood frame houses. Combine that with the disruption in international trade, and the domestic concrete industry became a major growth sector in the economy. Unfortunately the smooth ride ended a few turns later. We returned to bouncing across the countryside while Jenny and I swapped stories. After about half an hour we came to a halt, and I followed Jenny and Dan outside.

We were on a deserted stretch of road, parked behind a large RV that I recognized. George and I had been talking about scraping together the down payment for one just like it when our parents gifted us with our news van. Designed as a command post for sweeper teams, it had a decon shower and storage for a quick set-up electric fence. The manufacturer sold a dozen or so civilian models every year. Attached to it was a trailer bearing a pair of four-wheel ATVs. As we approached it a petite, middle-aged Japanese woman stepped out. Apparently this was Ricky, or rather, Riki.

She handed Jenny a thick manila folder, which Jenny in turn passed to me. "Here's the contract. Why don't you fill it out while we get the rest of our gear ready?"

I accepted the stack of forms. "Hard copy? How quaint."

"You can't hack paper. We don't store anything we don't have to in electronic form until after a case is closed."

I found a quiet spot in the glow of the RV's headlights to sit and sign my name in the dozens of indicated spaces in the contract, grateful for the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. Well, not exactly _my_ thoughts. "You've been strangely silent this evening."

_This is your area of expertise. I don't have much to contribute._

"I would have expected Jenny to get you stirred up."

_She doesn't stand a chance so long as we get George back alive. I wonder if she realizes that by helping you she's shooting her romantic aspirations in the foot? _The inner voice paused for a moment. _Anyway, if a woman is forward enough that it actually penetrates your thick skull that she's coming on to you, it means she's too aggressive for your tastes. _

"True. One thing I never understood; why weren't you jealous of Becks?"

_I was, a little, but you were still so hung up on George that I didn't think it would lead to anything. Besides, I was more than a little curious about how it felt from a guy's perspective. I wasn't really worried until I saw how good you were together, so I called her by the wrong name while you drifted off to sleep. _

"I didn't think you could do that unless I was completely out."

_You were on the verge of saying it anyway, I was just barely able to give it the last little nudge._

So I had been very nearly as stupid as I'd thought.

_Of course, once a woman has won your heart, aggressive and controlling isn't so bad, is it?_

At that point I was sure I had a silly grin plastered on my face. "Not at all. In fact, it's wonderful."

_Yeah, your sex life is going to suck without George, so go get her!_

"Yes ma'am."

_Good boy._

Disturbingly, that sent a shiver of, _something_, up and down my spine. I shrugged it off, scrawled the last required signature, and returned to the group. They had gotten the ATVs unloaded and ready to go. Riki was now dressed identically to Jenny and Dan. I was surprised for a moment, but hell, Mom was about the same age and still did field work. The three were carrying slung rifles that looked to be pistol-caliber carbines.

As I reached them, Jenny was asking, "Hey, Rob. Can I borrow the Thompson?"

"Might as well, I'm not in any shape to use it and Ice isn't a shooter."

Riki said, "Got any goodies I could borrow?"

"We won't be calling for the RV if there is still shooting going on," Jenny said.

"Well, Ashley kind of stowed away as I was leaving. She's hiding in the back so you don't get mad. She can handle the RV, but I figure Rob could use some fire support."

Rob asked, "Know your way around a UMP25?"

"Sure, they were standard issue for motor pool personnel the last couple of years I was in the service."

"Okay, I've got Anna's in the gun locker, help yourself. In fact, grab the grenade launcher and be ready to lay down some smoke."

"You got it."

Riki followed Rob into the Dilemma, and returned moments later to hand what looked to be genuine gangster-style Tommy gun with a large drum magazine to Jenny. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a modern replica, styled to resemble the original as closely as possible.

While Jenny was settling her new toy into place, Dan handed me a radio headset. I accepted it and looked it over. "Any way to set this to receive only? No telling what kind of detection gear they have."

Jenny looked up. "Good point. We'll have to send a short signal when we're in position, but other than that we'll stick with radio silence as long as possible."

I put on the headset and then collected my weapons and a small pack from the Dilemma. Once I was done, Rob closed up the LAV and drove off. The RV moved out without me having met the person driving it. Jenny and Dan mounted the ATVs and waited for me join them.

"Hey, Shaun," Jenny said. "You can ride bitch behind me."

Georgia snorted in the back of my head. I wasn't sure if I cared for the phrasing myself, but it would be more pleasant than riding pressed up against Dan. And Jenny was easier to see over and around. I followed her suggestion and we were soon moving off in a different direction. A few minutes later we were stopped in front of a gated community. Jenny checked the time, and then turned on to the perimeter road outside the fence. Luckily the patrol schedule was publicly available, so Ice didn't have to compromise his ethics any further to allow us to avoid security.

The road took us to within a couple of hundred yards of the rear of the building where George and Bobbie were held captive. The residents behind the wall were probably the ones who had protested the loudest about the idea of having the CDC for neighbors. We had just gone off the road and hidden the ATVs in some bushes when Rob's voice came over the headsets.

"George is on the move. Ice says a couple of guards woke her up and escorted her to an office at the front of the building. There are no cameras inside that room. But it did allow him to pinpoint where Bobbie is being held, the room will be on your left, seventh door from the loading dock."

I tried to suppress my worries as we made our way across an open field. We could see our destination. Pairs of guards made frequent circuits around the building, forcing us to duck down out of sight. There was a shed of some kind just inside the fence, and we were heading for the back of it. The camera views didn't extend much beyond the fence line, so we just had to stay out of sight of the guards. Still, it took a good fifteen minutes to cover the distance without being spotted. When we reached the fence, Dan took out a small pocket volt meter. From the design, I didn't think the fence could be electrified or alarmed, but since I was going to be cutting through it I had no objections to being absolutely certain.

The meter read zero on both the AC and DC settings, so Dan put it away. I readied the wire cutters while Jenny switched her headset to 'Send' just long enough to make three clicking noises with her tongue. A few minutes later I heard the roar of a big diesel engine approaching, accompanied by four faint hollow sounds. I didn't recognize them, but Jenny and Dan visibly cringed at each one. Then they both broke into grins when the loudspeakers on the Dilemma started blaring music.

_'tis old Stonewall the rebel that leans on his sword, _

_and while we are mounting prays low to the Lord._

_Now each cavalier that loves honor and right, _

_let him follow the feather of Stuart tonight._

Not exactly my kind of music, being Californian and all, but it would certainly attract attention. I cut a gap in the fence just wide enough for us to pass through, and we all slipped inside. Standing behind the shed was the last place we could be sure of being unobserved, so we took the opportunity to put on our masks and start the air flowing. We were in the midst of that when we heard Ice's voice over the headsets.

"I've cut Rob out of the circuit because he doesn't need to hear this right now. Bobbie is loose. The same goons went back and woke her up with rape in mind. She laid them out and found her way to the same office where they took Shaun's sister. In other news, there were at least a dozen more goons sleeping in a couple of other rooms. They are now up and milling around, but none have headed to your end of the building yet. The roving patrols both ran up to the front and are pointing guns at us."

That put a new wrinkle on things. We checked to make sure the coast was clear, saw that there was no one in sight and the front half of the building was shrouded in smoke, then galloped to the rear door. Not a word I would normally have used for running, but it was repeated a number of times in the song lyrics. I hadn't ever done a rescue with a soundtrack before. Jenny keyed in the entry code and cautiously pushed the door open. Right on cue, Ice cut the power and all the exterior lights went out. As we carefully eased inside, we found the interior almost as dark. There were some emergency lights but they must have been of the same vintage as the building, with batteries that held considerably less than full charge.

There was just barely enough light to avoid tripping over things. There were no guards in sight. The door was at one corner of the loading dock, offset from the center hallway, so we couldn't see much farther into the building. We started to move along one wall of the room when Jenny bumped into me, hard.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I normally take point, but this is your show."

She dropped back to my left flank, with Dan taking the right. We had crept up to the front wall and were moving along it to the hallway when I heard a hissing noise from overhead. I checked to make sure my mask was sealed properly and glanced up. The vents we'd noticed on the building plans were now spewing a reddish mist.

"That doesn't look any knockout gas I've ever seen before," I said.

Dan grunted. "It looks all too familiar to me." Slinging his rifle, he grabbed a broom that was leaning against the wall and held it up in front of the vents. The billowing mist clung wetly to it and he pulled it back down. He took a small red bottle from his pocket, unscrewing the cap to reveal an eyedropper. He squeezed out one drop of clear fluid, which hit the red stain on the broom and briefly turned bright yellow before changing to black.

"Yep, blood. And with a high concentration of live state KA."

"How high?"

"A lot higher than this test can show."

"Good thing we brought our own air supply," Jenny said.

We had just started moving when we heard a gunshot, followed about ten seconds later by another. We gave up on stealth and charged towards the hallway to discover Ice had been wrong, there were a lot more than just a dozen guards. The good news was that they weren't shooting at us. The bad news was that they no longer had enough brain power to remember how to use their guns. They must have inhaled the viral mist as soon as it started pumping and converted in a matter of minutes. Their collective moan echoed off the walls as they rushed us.

We opened fire, but few of them fell. They were wearing body armor and helmets, reducing the kill zone to a thin triangle from their eyebrows to the hollow of their throats. We retreated, shooting into the mass. Jenny was having the most success, firing three round bursts into their faces and usually having at least one bullet go through the brain or the spine. But they weren't going down fast enough, and we were running out of room. Jenny squatted down and emptied the rest of the drum magazine in a long burst at knee height, intending to cripple and slow them down. She dropped the Thompson and flicked out her left hand, causing an collapsible steel baton to extend from her fist. With her right hand, she unholstered her pistol. My own handgun was empty so I discarded it, drawing my chainsaw and cattle prod.

Most of the zombies were down with shattered legs, still trying to crawl towards us. None of them had their chin straps buckled, so they lost their helmets when they fell. Jenny and Dan picked them off with single shots while I dealt with the few still walking. An electric jolt to the lower body sent them crashing to the floor, exposing the backs of their necks to my saw. The footing favored us, the former guards had trouble stepping over the bodies of their comrades, and in a few minutes all were still. Jenny and Dan took the opportunity to reload. A good thing, because that was when the second wave hit.

The room and hall had grown dimmer, as the ancient batteries in the emergency lighting fixtures used up what little charge they had. Between the fading visibility, the bloody mist collecting on our air masks, and our distraction with the infected close at hand, the new zombies were on us before we spotted them. And they were silent, not a single moan to announce their presence. I've had zombies stalk me, surround me, even set ambushes, but it was the first time they'd ever held back a reserve. It made me wonder if the abnormally high viral concentration made this bunch smarter than usual for a pack of the same size.

The first of the fresh zombies lunged out of the darkness and bit down on Jenny's right hand, causing her to drop her gun. The back of her glove was just as smooth and slick as the rest of her outfit, and with a twist she pulled her hand from its mouth. She swept its legs out from under it with a spinning kick, and Dan put a bullet in its skull. The next ran face-first into my cattle prod and dropped to the floor as the electricity scrambled its brains.

Dan backed up and hopped off the end of the loading dock, taking partial cover behind the van parked near the big roll-up door, turning on the tactical flashlight mounted on his carbine. That gave us a little more light to work by, and it had a red filter on the lens so that it wouldn't kill our night vision. Jenny and I moved to the sides, splitting the pack and drawing most of the zombies after us, leaving Dan a clear field of fire at the few that headed his way. I found myself fighting for my life. I managed to keep the zombies at bay with short jolts from my cattle prod, while gradually taking them down one at a time with my chainsaw. Contrary to what you see in TV shows and movies, chopping off heads is neither quick nor easy, except under ideal conditions. Not even if you're using power tools. With this crowd coming after me, I had to settle for slashing through their leg muscles to drop them to the ground and keep them from getting back to their feet.

Across the room from me, Jenny was doing much the same with much more grace and style. Lacking any sort of cutting weapon, she was attacking their kneecaps and lower legs with her baton and her boots. Even the few glimpses I caught were amazing to watch. She would spin out of reach of a lunge, a foot would come out with the full momentum of her rotation behind it, and with a crunching of bone a zombie would keel over. I had seen Rob pull the same maneuvers, but Jenny was more fluid even if she lacked the sheer muscle power. She also used her pistol from time to time, when she had a clear shot that allowed her to fire away from me and Dan.

Dan, meanwhile, had taken out the few infected that had rushed him, and was methodically finishing off the ones that Jenny and I knocked down. Shortly thereafter, all of Jenny's opponents had been reduced to crawling and she was able to join in with grace shots. Soon, I had crippled the last one coming after me and was able to retrieve and reload my handgun. We quickly picked off the few that were left.

By that time the bloody mist had stopped spewing from the vents, though some was still settling to the floor. I attempted to scrub the accumulation from my mask, only achieving a uniform bloody smear, but at least I could see through it better. Jenny had picked up the empty Thompson and slung it across her back, and was holding her carbine at the ready. This time, we finally made it to the hallway and advanced down it, checking every door. The room that had imprisoned George and Bobbie now only held a couple more infected guards. Jenny tossed a grenade into the room and slammed the door. There was a heavy barrel bolt on the outside, and I slid it home just in case. As we approached the offices one of the doors swung open, revealing a room more brightly lit than the rest of the building, and we heard the sounds of movement from inside. We leveled our weapons and waited to see what happened next.

* * *

_Our forensic accounting team has turned up something new. It seems the initial funding for Project Lazarus did not come from the CDC budget or any other government source. The money originated from an off-shore account held by a defunct medical research fund-raising organization. Three decades ago, that same account had been used to channel donations supporting the early Marburg-Amberlee trials. They have been unable to determine who made the transfer of funds to the CDC, or even identify anyone with the authority to do so. _

**memo from Dr. Danika Kimberley to the Office of the Director, EIS**

**July 30, 2042**


	9. Chapter 9

**Wicked Girls Saving Ourselves**

I was jolted back to consciousness by the stinging sensation of something being injected into my arm. I tried to open my eyes, but it was too much effort. Moving any other part of me seemed to be a Herculean task. I could faintly hear someone breathing nearby, but that was all. After a few minutes, or perhaps a few eons, the drug haze was abruptly gone from my brain, replaced by a pounding headache. It was bad, but the migraines I used to get before I died had been far worse.

I opened my eyes and saw two men leering down at me. If you were filming a movie and needed to cast a pair of standard rent-a-thugs, these guys would fit the bill perfectly. They wore Kevlar vests and combat helmets, and each had a police-style baton hanging from his belt. They had khaki pants, and white shirts with seams that strained to contain the bulging muscles underneath. If you ignored their skin colors, they could have been twins. I was uncomfortably aware that I was still dressed in only the t-shirt and panties I had worn to bed. I never thought that I would miss the relative modesty of a hospital gown.

The one to my left said, "Ah, our little princess is awake."

I tried to sit up and found that my hands were pinned down. My wrists were locked in padded cuffs that I recognized as psychiatric restraints. They looked clunky and clinical in comparison to the much sexier leather cuffs I had used on Shaun. Had that really been just two nights earlier? I looked across the room and saw Bobbie, tied down just as I was and apparently still unconscious.

"Don't worry," said the same thug, "we'll come back in a bit and re-enact Sleeping Beauty with your friend."

"But it'll take a lot more than just a kiss to wake her up," the other one added.

"Too bad the boss won't give us a shot at you. I'll bet you got a real tight little pussy. If your brother can't get anyone but you to fuck him, he must have a pencil dick."

As he spoke, his hand fumbled roughly between my thighs. Between the headache and the sudden flood of revulsion, it took no effort at all to lean over and vomit in his direction. Unfortunately, he was faster than he looked and I missed. He drew back his arm to backhand me across the face, but the other thug blocked him.

"The boss said no marks."

The first thug subsided and glared down at me. "That 'no marks' thing only applies as long as you cooperate. You try to fight or get away and we can rough you up plenty."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." My voice came out dry and scratchy.

"Only the ones I really like."

He and his buddy uncuffed my wrists and helped me to my feet. They each took an arm and marched me out of the room, down a hallway, and into a small office. It was furnished in a style sixty years out of date, which put it about right for a low-level bureaucrat around the time of the Rising. That reinforced my earlier impression that this place had the utilitarian, institutional appearance that government buildings have when they are far from the halls of power. The only modern touch was a wall screen to the left showing the feeds from a dozen or so cameras, including one in the room where Bobbie and I had been.

There were two men in the room. Standing by the door was another thug, leaner than the others and older, somewhere in his fifties. He was dressed the same, but lacking the helmet and armed with a handgun. He gazed at me with a calm, neutral expression that was somehow more menacing than the leers of his comrades.

The man behind the desk couldn't have been a day less than ninety. From his complexion, it looked like he hadn't seen the sun in years. What little hair he had was solid white. An air mask covered his entire face, fed by an oxygen bottle and a humidifier. An IV bag hung behind him, with a tube leading to his shoulder. Instead of the expected office chair, he was seated in an electric wheelchair.

He spoke in a raspy, muffled voice. "You two go entertain our other guest. William can handle Miss Mason by himself."

As they departed, leaving a spine-chilling cackle floating in the air behind them, he turned his attention to me. "Please, take a seat."

He gestured towards a metal and plastic chair in the center of the room. I sat down. There was a table bearing a can of Coke and a couple of aspirins at my elbow. I instinctively reached for them, but hesitated. There was enough muscle on call to force-feed me any drugs they wanted, no need to resort to subterfuge. I popped the pills and washed them down my throat with half a can of Coke. That would help with the headache, and had the immediate benefit of clearing the lingering taste of vomit.

"I apologize for the way my men treated you. They exceeded my instructions. They're scum, but at least they are competent scum."

I glanced over my shoulder at the guard by the door.

"Oh, William shares my opinion of them. He would rape a woman if I told him to do so, but he would question my orders first and would not take quite so much glee in the act. Alas, men of his caliber are hard to come by these days."

That sent another chill down my spine. "You apologize to me while sending them to do far worse to my friend?"

"Her husband has been stalling for time. Getting a video of his wife being, _abused,_ should encourage him to bring your brother to me."

"Oh, well, that makes it okay."

"No, it just makes it necessary."

"Why! What the hell do you want?"

"Revenge. It's not a very noble goal, but it's all I have left."

His decrepit physical state finally pinged something in my brain. "I get it. We have to die because we spoiled your plans to move into a fresh young body."

"What happens to me is irrelevant. No, this is the reason you must die." He pointed a remote at the screen and the camera feeds disappeared, replaced by a still shot of woman of about thirty with long, curly red hair.

"I have lived a full life. But my wife was struck down by ovarian cancer in 1982, when she had barely begun to live."

"I don't see how that is my fault. It's not as though you can dig her up and make a copy now."

"She was cryopreserved within minutes of death. Once the technique used to give you new life was perfected, the next stage would have been to develop a method of reviving people who had been frozen."

"Researchers have been trying figure out how to resurrect corpsicles for decades. What makes you think it could be accomplished now?"

"Bringing them back to useful, conscious life may be impossible. The plan was to introduce live state Kellis-Amberlee during the revival process."

I stiffened. I could see why no one had thought of that before. What point was there to thawing out the frozen dead if they just ended up as zombies? But you could copy the brain of an infected person and load it into a clone. Or at least the CDC could, before the crackdown. If you deliberately infected a frozen corpse as it was being thawed out, it was conceivable that the Kellis-Amberlee virus would restart the brain before it was warm enough to decay.

"So, you see the implications."

I thought for a moment. "You obviously have money. Have you considered funding private research? Texas Biomed is already working on memory transfer, I would think a substantial grant would get them moving in the direction you want."

"That's why I moved my operations to San Antonio. But it would require loosening the restrictions on cloning research. Instead, the government has tightened them by banning the use of memory transfer on clones. I subverted a few people on the inside, but there was no way they could covertly do research of this magnitude."

"That explains how I got here. But why not Shaun?"

"Your brother was under constant monitoring. You weren't."

"So, is there some school all you guys go to that requires some sort of villain rant?"

"No, just passing the time until your brother gets here to watch you die. Or maybe it will be the other way around this time. Besides, I would have settled for just your deaths, but since I have the opportunity it is much more satisfying to tell you why. I have so few pleasures these past several years."

I was trying to play it cool and tough, but underneath my mind was roiling. No way would Rob hand Shaun over to this guy, or would he? Maybe if Shaun agreed and Rob could be guaranteed of getting Bobbie back safely. With her as a witness, he could call the police and let them rescue us. But there was no way he could be certain. No, I had to trust there was a rescue on the way. I may not be the religious type, but I had faith in my brother. He had already pulled off a rescue more miraculous than this one would be, and this time he had much more reliable local contacts. Still, I wasn't inclined to just sit here and wait for the cavalry. If I saw a chance, I would take it. And if I never got a chance, I would at least go down fighting.

"You seem rather thoughtful, Miss Mason."

"Well, you know what they say about the prospect of being hanged."

"Yes, I do. Hmm, hanging. Now that's an idea I hadn't thought of. Done properly it is a rather slow, unpleasant way to go. And that solves the problem of who goes first. You and your brother could watch each other slowly asphyxiate. The loading dock would be perfect. Would it be better if you were close enough to almost be able to touch each other, or would farther apart be more effective?"

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. I saw the surprise on his face and turned to look behind me. Bobbie had just entered the room wearing even less than I was, just a ripped shirt that didn't cover much of anything. William proved himself to be a true professional by ignoring the female flesh on display and drawing his handgun. Bobbie lashed out with a police baton that looked a lot like what my previous tormenters had been carrying and knocked it from his hand before he could bring it to bear. He attempted to disarm her, but she spun away from his reaching hands. She delivered a kick to his legs that threw him off balance, and completed her turn to slam the baton across the side of his head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. I scrambled from my chair and picked up the fallen gun, turning to point it at our host.

His hands rested on the desk, empty, and he was careful not to move. "Mrs. Philips, you are more resourceful than I had expected."

"My husband and sister-in-law are both qualified martial arts instructors. Did it not occur to you that they might have taught me a few things?" She closed the door behind her and locked it.

Hell, it hadn't occurred to me, and I had spent most of my waking hours for the better part of a week in her company. I asked her, "So, what now?"

"Much as I'd really like to kill this asshole, we need him as a hostage to hold off his goons while we call the police." She started walking towards the desk and the old-fashioned phone resting atop it. She got about half way but stopped, cocking her head to the side. "Never mind, Rob is here."

I had been aware of music coming from somewhere, but it wasn't familiar so it didn't register with me. Listening more closely, I could make out lyrics.

_Come tighten your girth and slacken your rein;  
Come buckle your blanket and holster again;  
_ _Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade,  
_ _For he must ride sure that goes riding a raid. _

"If my husband has busted out the Civil War songs, he's ready to kick some ass."

The man behind the desk reached for his remote. I thought about shooting him, but I had to admit that I was curious too. After he pushed a few buttons, the screen changed to an image shrouded in white smoke. I could barely make out a heavy steel gate, and beyond that a faint outline that suggested the shape of Rob's LAV.

"So, reports of your husband's injuries were exaggerated."

Bobbie flung the baton away, sending it just past my head to bounce off the door and land at my feet, and advanced on him with her arms outstretched. "What have you done to him?"

"It was none of my doing, I assure you. Reportedly, he had an encounter with a guard at Texas Biomed while liberating Mr. Mason. Though I suppose I can't really trust news accounts concerning someone with such extensive media contacts."

Bobby subsided and we returned our attentions to the screen. The Dilemma was in motion, smashing through the gate with ease. Flashes of automatic gun fire winked from the roof of the LAV, seemingly aimed right at us. After a short burst the camera was apparently knocked out and the screen went dead. A few seconds later everything went dead. The power had gone out. A pair of emergency lights went on, illuminating the room even more brightly than before.

"Well, I must say that this has been an entertaining evening. I haven't misjudged anyone this thoroughly in decades. Luckily, my self destruct has a battery backup." Seeing the look on my face, he added, "What, isn't every villain supposed to have one?"

His hand moved underneath the desk, and a large vent near the center of the ceiling released a reddish mist into the air. I had an unpleasant notion of what it was. Bobbie collapsed and went into convulsions. I raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

"Silly girl. Without the right chip implanted in your palm, it won't fire."

His hand came out from below the desk holding a gun identical to the one in my hand. He fired, and my left leg went out from under me. I looked down and saw a bleeding wound in the outside of my thigh just above the knee.

"I could kill you now but, given your history, amplifying will be so much worse. And by the time anyone gets here, no one will be left to testify that I was anything more than another kidnap victim. Luckily my captors let me keep my oxygen."

Only my head was in his view, so I carefully reached for the outstretched arm of the unconscious guard, wrapped his hand around the butt of the gun, aimed as best as I could, and fired. The bullet hit him somewhere in the belly. I lost my grip because of the recoil, so I grabbed the fallen baton and used my good leg to propel me up and past the desk. He twisted to aim at me but as I fell to the floor I brought the club down across his wrist, knocking the gun from his hand. Using the wall for leverage, I hauled myself to my feet.

He gasped in pain, cradling his wrist. "Inhaling that high a concentration, you should have already converted."

My mouth twisted into something that might be mistaken for a smile. "And with that bullet wound, you might take half an hour or so. But don't worry, you won't live that long." I brought the baton down on top of his skull as he feebly raised his good arm to try ward off the blow. "And I'm going to make sure no one can resurrect you."

Some time later I was splattered with blood and his head was a pulpy mess. That was one brain that would never be scanned and transferred to a clone. I slid down the wall and sat there watching Bobbie and the guard, wondering when one of them would get up and try to eat me. Distantly, I heard gunshots. That roused me from my malaise, and I took stock of the situation. The first priority was to stop bleeding all over the place. Not having any better options within reach, I tore some cloth loose from my shirt.

That was easier than it sounds. My sleepwear comes from a manufacturer that specializes in tearaway clothing, working on the theory that it's better to be naked if it means you're able to run away while leaving the zombie holding a handful of cloth. That also meant that the fabric was too weak to tie around my leg, unless I folded it over several times. I needed a lot of extra cloth, which left me wearing nothing more than panties and a ragged crop-top that barely covered my breasts. I bound the rest around my thigh, making sure that only the relatively clean cloth from my back touched the wound itself.  
Meanwhile, the music had changed. It seemed to be coming from a different direction, suggesting that the Dilemma was driving around the building. A new song was playing, with lyrics that I found personally disturbing until I heard the chorus and realized it was intended as a CDC reference. It appeared that my brother and Rob weren't up to speed on everything.

_Bring the good old bugle, boys, we'll sing another song,  
Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along,  
Sing it as we used to sing it, 50,000 strong,  
While we were marching through Georgia,_

_Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the jubilee!  
Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!  
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,  
While we were marching through Georgia. _

The next priority was getting out of here. Sitting and waiting for our imminent rescue had seemed like a fine idea before, but now there was poison in the air. There was no way I could carry Bobbie, even without a bullet hole in my leg. I hobbled over to the desk and examined the wheelchair. After undoing a couple of buckles, I tipped the corpse out of it and rolled it over to Bobbie. That took a few tries, it was electric and I couldn't stagger fast enough to hold on to the controls. After a few minutes of effort, I was able to get Bobbie into the chair and buckled in.

I needed weapons, preferably something better than a stick. I picked up both of the fallen guns and tried them, but neither would fire. I found an old-fashioned letter opener and used it to perform some impromptu surgery on the dead man's hand, eventually finding a tiny RFID chip just beneath the skin. I balanced it in my palm and wrapped a length of tape around my hand to hold it in place. Hoping it wouldn't need a biometric signature as well, I tried to fire a shot into the guard's head. It worked this time. I put a round from the other gun through his skull just to make sure.

I opened the door and sat in Bobbie's lap. I placed one gun between my thighs, held the other in my right hand, and awkwardly used my left to send the chair out into the hallway. It was much dimmer than the office had been, but I could barely make out three figures pointing guns at me. Luckily, Shaun's silhouette is burned into my memory, or I might have shot him. He ran to me, hugging me against his chest with his free hand. I didn't have to look up at him to know his eyes were still scanning for danger over my head. Too soon, he pulled back from me, and I noticed that he and his companions were wearing full-face air masks.

"George, are you okay?"

"No. But I'm still alive. Who are your friends?"

"Rob's sister, Jenny, and Dan, her team medic."

Dan was already kneeling at my side to examine my wound. "Okay, this dressing will hold for now. We need to move fast. Can you walk?"

"Maybe with some help."

"Jenny?"

"On it."

I could see that Shaun wanted to object, but he changed his mind without speaking. I stood up, only remembering the second gun when it clattered to the floor. Well, it's not like I had any place to holster it. I threw my left arm over her shoulders and she held me around the waist. I hoped she could handle her rifle with just her left hand. Shaun put away his weapons and unbuckled Bobbie, then he lifted her up and heaved her across his shoulder.

"What happened to her?" Dan asked.

"As soon as that stuff started spraying from the ceiling she collapsed."

"Damn. She's probably amplified. Shaun, you need to set her down."

"No way," my brother growled as he started walking towards a faintly glowing exit sign. "I can survive a bite or two, it won't be the first time. You just keep your distance."

Dan fiddled with the controls on a headset he was wearing. "Ash, get your ass over here, now!"

We were soon at the door. Jenny leaned me against the wall to punch a code into the keypad set above the doorknob. There was a faint whirring sound, but when she tried the door it wouldn't budge. She muttered, "Damn! Battery's dead. Thank God the manual release is still there." She tugged at a piece of molding running up the center of the door, and the bottom half pivoted up. When it was level, she pushed inward and gave it a twist. Then she shoved down. When it was about halfway to the floor, the door popped open. I reattached to Jenny and she helped me down a short flight of stairs.

"How did he get his wheelchair in and out of here?"

Shaun said, "Loading dock in the back had a ramp. I bet if we checked that van we'd find handicap plates."

The Dilemma pulled up in front of us and Rob climbed out. Dan yelled, "Stay back! We're the hottest walking hot zones you ever heard of."

Rob said, "Okay, we'll do a rough decon out here, then you can go through the shower in Jenny's RV." He shouted back over his shoulder, "Riki, hit the power take-off for the pressure washer!"

Rob grabbed a spray wand that was clipped to the side of the Dilemma and fitted a broad nozzle to the end. He turned our way and began hosing us down with lukewarm bleach water. I disengaged from Jenny and turned in the spray, wincing every time I put weight on my bad leg. The rest followed suit, stripping off their masks and their outer clothing. Shaun set Bobbie down, and he and Dan turned her to make sure she was fully washed off. In the middle of this, a large motorhome drove in through the shattered gate and stopped nearby. Once the other three were down to their underwear and we were all thoroughly soaked, Dan led the way to the RV.

At least I no longer felt quite so under-dressed. Jenny's underwear was even skimpier than what I had on, not to mention being sheer and lacy. The RV had a shower just inside the door, and Dan went first with Shaun helping him get Bobbie in with him. Shaun and I took the next turn. I wanted to just cling to him for a few hours, but we needed to clear the way for the Jenny. There was a glass-fronted cabinet in the shower. Inside, a box of sterile dressings had been opened and one was sitting out. Shaun slipped the makeshift bandage off of my thigh as I got out of what little else I was wearing.

"George, how long ago did you get shot?" Shaun said, looking at the bloody cloth.

"Maybe fifteen minutes."

"Then why is your blood brown? It's not dry yet."

Further conversation was halted by the water coming on. At least this was properly hot and spraying from all directions, though I clenched my teeth at the pain from my leg. Shaun hurriedly slipped his shorts off in time for the first blast of bleach. After we were completely disinfected, and short spray of pure water rinsed us off, and powerful fans kicked in to dry us. I opened the cabinet and took the dressing, ripping the package open and covering my bullet wound. The cabinet also held several robes sealed in bags. I took one of the two labeled "Jenny," figuring she was about my size. It didn't quite close across my chest, but it covered all of the important parts. I didn't see the name on the robe Shaun took, but it hung on him like a tent and dragged the floor. He took the bloody piece of my shirt and sealed it in both of the bags, one inside the other.

As soon as we stepped out of the shower, he handed the package to Dan. "What do you make of this?"

"What the hell? Damn! Ash, get out the oxygen! They're suffering from methemoglobinemia." Dan turned to me. "Was Bobbie standing closer to one of those vents than you?"

"Yes."

"That explains why she's unconscious. She got a bigger dose than you."

"Dose of what?"

"Nitric oxide. They must have been using it as a propellant for the blood." A woman I didn't recognize, presumably Ash, handed him an oxygen tank.

"Laughing gas?" Shaun asked.

"Nitr_ic_, not nitr_ous_," Dan said, while placing an oxygen mask over Bobbie's nose and mouth and handing another one to me. "It's a vasodilator, opens up the blood vessels and increases circulation. No wonder the guards turned so fast."

Jenny stepped out of the shower, the robe looking a lot more modest on her than on me. "Is Bobbie going to be okay?"

"I don't know," Dan said. "We figured out why she's out, but her live viral load keeps oscillating up and down. I don't know why she hasn't amplified. She doesn't have a reservoir condition."

"No," I said, "but Rob does."

"What?"

I sighed. "The government wants to keep this a secret, and for once I agree with them. But I guess you need to know." As I spoke, Dan laid me down on a couch and elevated my wounded leg. "Frequent, intimate contact over a prolonged period with someone with a reservoir condition can confer immunity. Shaun got it from me, and apparently he passed it back to my new body. Bobbie probably has it the same way."

Jenny's face took on an expression I had seen far too often. I met her gaze without flinching. "No one knows how prolonged, intimate, or frequent is necessary. Growing up with Rob, there may be a chance that you are immune too. But there's only one way to test it, and if you fail you're a zombie." I slipped on the mask.

Dan interrupted. "I may regret this, Jenny, but I need you to drive. Get us to Sam-cee as quickly as you can, but take it easy on the curves."

Jenny slid into the driver seat and we were moving within a few seconds. Dan pulled out some kind of electronic device, flipped it on, and set it on the dashboard. "That transponder will flag us as an emergency medical transport. It will speed us through checkpoints."

Once that was done he took out a cellphone and dialed 911. "This is an emergency. I am Daniel Kane, a licensed paramedic. I am transporting five people, including myself, who have been exposed to a weaponized form of Kellis-Amberlee. Two patients are also suffering from acute methemoglobinemia. We are headed eastbound on Interstate 10 from Foster Road, en route to San Antonio Military Medical Center. I request police escort. We are broadcasting medical transponder code..." he reeled off a string of letters and numbers I didn't catch. He hung up and dialed a second number, repeating all of the above along a torrent of medicalese that I was too tired to try to parse.

We swayed going around a corner and I almost rolled off of the couch. "I thought you told her to take it easy."

"For Jenny, this is taking it easy. Um, she's never tipped us over."  
With that faint assurance ringing in my brain, I reached out and took Shaun's hand. He sat down on the floor next to me. After another turn that I swore had wheels off of the pavement, the ride smoothed out. A few minutes later I heard sirens, and saw flashing blue lights reflecting from the ceiling. Since we didn't slow down, I assumed this was the requested escort. Ten minutes and another couple of turns later, we skidded to an abrupt halt. Dan keyed in a code that opened an inner door that bypassed the shower, and was met by people in biohazard gear who already had the outer door open.

They had us loaded onto gurneys and whisked us through an unmarked door in a matter of minutes. We were given multiple blood tests on the way, and given a thorough scrub down with an assortment of increasingly harsh chemicals. I lost sight of the others as I was taken into a treatment room. They injected me with something called methylene blue. They ran an IV line into my arm and gave my thigh several shots of local anesthetic. I closed my eyes as they started preparing to sew me up, not particularly wanting to see it. Between that, my exhaustion, and the gradual easing of the pain in my leg, I must have fallen asleep.

* * *

_In the case of the United States of America v. Robert Philips, I find the charges against the defendant to be completely without merit. I hereby order those charges dismissed. I also order the immediate release of Antonia Guillen. In the matter of Mr. Philips' status as a fugitive from justice, given the spurious nature of the charges and the severity of the punishment mandated by a conviction, I am inclined to be lenient so long as he surrenders himself to the authorities within the next 48 hours. _  
**- decision rendered by Federal District Judge Maxwell Jonathan Post** **- July 31, 2042**


End file.
